Bloodlines
by xenokattz
Summary: Fifteen years later, secrets are still Smallville's specialty. Clark, Lois, Pete and Lana must piece together a story so big, writing it cost Chloe her life. AU after "Promises"
1. Chapter 1

When Lois Lane smiled like she couldn't stop, it usually meant one of two things: either her boyfriend was around or she was on the tail end of an investigative piece gone right. Considering she was talking on her personal cell-phone at the moment, it could only mean that Clark Kent was, indeed, sweet talking her.

"No, I don't want Korean," she said, fixing her hands-free more securely in her ear. "We had Korean two days ago. How about the new Persian place on Davie and Thurlow? Then this time don't order the lamb if it doesn't-- I swear, Smallville, for strapping farmer's boy, you have the weakest stomach on Earth! Fine, fine, toasted subs but make note that I am pissed the hell off. Yeah? Me too." She hung up still smiling, seeing everyone's eyes on her, demanded, "What? No one else here has a personal life? Actually that wouldn't surprise me a bit."

Perry hollered incoherently from his office but Lois was so used to it that she ignored him for the article before her. She knew he wanted another city piece about Superman but a source had given her some dirt on Luthor's administration and she wanted to confirm it ASAP. Why America voted that swine into the Oval Office, she'd never understand.

The phone rang again, this time through her desk line. "Lane," she barked.

"Lois Lane? Daughter of Gen. Samuel Lane and Ella Lane nee Li?"

"That's me."

"This is Ramir Boutboul of Tishlar, Boutboul and Knobe, Solicitors and Barristers in Vienna, Austria."

Something in Lois's brain twitched. She grabbed a pen and paper. "Hi, Mr. Boutboul. You're calling from a long way; how can I help you?"

"Before I can answer that question, I need to verify for identity for security reasons."

"Security reasons, huh? I know a bit about that and I reserve the right to refuse to answer those questions until I know on whose behalf you're calling."

"Fair enough." She could almost hear his smile across the telephone wires. "My client is Chloe Sullivan."

"And I know you're telling the truth because?"

"Ms. Sullivan told me to tell you that her key-phrase is 'Mulder was an amateur.'"

Lois picked up a pen, now alert. "Ask me your questions."

"What year were you born?"

"Nineteen eighty-five."

"Where did you live when you were eleven and what significant injury did you sustain?"

"We were stationed in the USVI back then and I didn't hurt myself too badly unless you count the time my sister, Lucy, bit my hand hard enough to need a couple stitches."

"Finally, will you please name members of your family on both the maternal and paternal sides?"

"Sure, how far do you need me to go up? The General had us memorizing those things like the alphabet."

"Three generations is quite sufficient," said Boutboul

Taking a deep breath, Lois recited, "Gen. William Lane married Clementine Straussenberg which resulted in three children: Samuel, Joseph, and William, Junior. On the maternal side, there's Dr. Michael Li and Dr. Jane Dorsey which resulted in two daughters, Ella and Moira. Samuel and Ella produced two kids, myself and my sister Lucy. Joseph died in combat in nineteen sixty-seven and William Junior is currently serving in Morley Military Hospital. He's divorced and I have no idea where his two kids are. Moira Li married Gabriel Sullivan and had one daughter, Chloe, my cousin and your client."

Boutboul made an indecipherable noise. "Very good, Ms. Lane. I understand you're probably at work at the moment and I do apologize but my client's terms are quite specific concerning the time that I contact you."

"That's Chloe all over," she said. "She's always been better than me at crossing her T's and dotting her I's."

"Most certainly. If I may suggest finding a private place or having some support with you?"

Lois began tapping her pencil against her pad. She always thought better when she beat out a face-melting drum lick. "I'm fine where I am, Mr. Boutboul. Now please, what is it that Chloe wanted to tell me?"

"I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news. Chloe Sullivan passed away yesterday."

Rather than cry, she snorted. "What, again?"

"I'm…sorry?"

"My cousin has a nose for dangerous assignments, Mr. Boutboul. News of her death is always highly exaggerated."

"Not this time, Ms. Lane. We have a body, you see."

Lois dropped the phone.

-----

Once Clark got a hold of his hearing powers, he realised that it worked best when he had a focal point. In Smallville, he listened to his mother's heartbeat-- the deep, hollow waves crashing against an underwater mountain, powerful yet undetectable on the surface. Long before he learned how babies were soothed by hums that mimicked their time in the womb, Clark had focussed on this as his grounding point.

He didn't know when he started using Lois' heartbeat as a focus; maybe it started when they became roomies, Metropolis rental prices being what they were for two college kids. It was strange to go from his mother's easy rhythm to Lois' faster, stronger beat. It should have been annoying, that loud, insistent bass drum but it grew on him. Actually, everything about his relationship so far had been like that.

He had an effect on her too, thank God. Because of all the adventures they'd gone through together, Lois rarely had the normal physiological reaction to dangerous situations. The only time he ever heard her heart suddenly jump to a faster pace was when something bad happened to someone they knew. So when he heard her heart rev up to twice its usual beat during a routine patrol, Clark didn't hesitate to drop everything and zoom to her side.

He found her on the roof of the Planet, on her knees. Her sobs ripped right through his heart.

"Lois!" He sank on his knees with her, enfolding her in his arms, forgetting about his colours and who might see Superman and Lois Lane like this. "Lois, sweetheart, what's wrong? What is it? I'm here, honey, what is it? Tell me how to fix it."

"No, not…" She hiccoughed, snorting her runny nose and hiccoughed again. Lois was not a pretty crier.

"No? Not what?"

"Not huh-huh-here. People cuh-cuh-can s-s-see."

Lois. Always the logical one. Clark pushed off.

Somewhere over the Australian plain, Lois finally caught her breath enough to speak. "It's Chloe," she said. "Clark, Chloe's... she's gone. Oh, God, Chloe's gone and I was so pissed off at her for disappearing and not telling us and you have no idea the kinds of things I would email her and... and... I don't understand why she wouldn't contact us. I'm her cousin! And you! You've been her best friend since you were kids and--oh, crap, Lane, you've gone and stuck your foot in it again." She cupped Clark's face. "How're you doing, baby?"

Clark landed quietly on a flat-topped mountain. "Are you sure? We've thought she was dead before."

"The lawyer who called me had all the right answers to all the questions I could ever ask about Chloe. And, he had all these terms that only Chloe would come up with-- secret questions, something about a will divided between five people. I assume you're one of them. I just _know_ Clark. I know it here." She pressed her fist against her stomach.

Sadly, he understood what she meant. "I guess they're contacting family first."

She arched an eyebrow. "Have you checked your office voicemail lately?"

"Sorry, there was a dam in Greenland." Clark took his cell phone out. Seconds later, his face fell. "I don't have anything." He hadn't heard from Chloe Sullivan for thirteen years. Not a day went by when he didn't wonder what he did to make her hate him so much.

-----

The funeral was in London. Perry White gave them both two weeks of bereavement leave despite Lois' protestations that it would only drive her crazy. Only Clark kept her from flying off the handle.

"She wouldn't have been secretive if she wasn't onto something," he'd said, calmly, quietly as she'd been raging up and down their condo and throwing longing glances at the locked case which held her Beretta. "They found a way to silence her. We owe it to her to think straight and get the story out."

Lois wished the trip would blur. Memories of her time with Chloe in Smallville kept playing over and over in her head. Clark stared out the window the entire flight; her hand was practically glued to his, her thumb tracing the lines in his palm. The silence would have discomfited most people but they'd learned to read each other to the point of non-verbal communication, the very same one that Lois used to tease the Kents about.

Clark shifted to press a kiss on Lois' forehead. "Why don't you sleep?"

"It's still noon Metropolis time," she said. "But even if it was midnight, I wouldn't be able to sleep. Is my investigative reporter sense completely out of whack or is there something handwave-y about this whole thing? Even more so than the suddenness and the terms of the will."

"It's not out of whack," said Clark. "The Chloe I remember tended towards conspiracy theories but not to the point of paranoia. I never thought I'd say this but she's being too careful."

Lois smiled. "Remember the first piece I handed to her for the Smallville Torch?" Clark snorted and she punched his arm. "Hey, it took a lot out of me to get my baby cousin to edit a high school piece! She's the whole reason I got into investigative reporting _and_ the reason we have food on the table, Mr. Kent. We sure as hell wouldn't have a roof over our heads if we had to rely on you for a regular salary, handsome."

Clark blushed even though the taunt was an old one. "Aren't you tired of holding my first two years at the Planet over my head?"

"Nope. Never. With all the times I had to make excuses for you to Perry, I should've been a novelist. And I'm still the one who has to pick up after you when you skip out for your second job."

"I do appreciate it, Lois."

"Damn well better, Smallville. I'm still proud of the one about the broken water tower."

He raised the armrest between them and pulled Lois closer so she could tuck her head under his chin. In this position, Clark felt her heart beating and she warmed herself on his body heat.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you, Lane?"

"Not in the past couple hours, Kent. I think we're overdue." In a quieter tone, she added, "I was going to shop for your anniversary present today."

"You're my anniversary present. Now, hush and go to sleep. I have a feeling we're going to be wiped as soon as we reach London."

A cab awaited them as soon as they walked off the runway. London-Heathrow was as noiselessly busy as always with bodies surging and falling away in multicoloured waves.

"I hate airports," said Lois.

Clark replied with an interested, "Hmm?"

"Every time I'm in an airport, there's always something dangerous waiting for me on the other end. I like it better when we fly privately."

Ten years of being together and they had code-speak down pat. Clark smiled at her. "I'll take you up later. When things have settled down." To the cab driver, he said, "Where are we supposed to meet Mr. Boutboul? I thought his offices were in Vienna."

"I don't know about Vienna, sir," said the cabbie. "But I'm supposed to drive you to the 41 Hotel."

"The 41?" Clark's eyebrows rose. "Chloe's been holding out on us."

Lois only shook her head and adjusted her seatbelt.

Once at the luxurious hotel, Lois and Clark were directed to an elevator that whipped them up immediately to the fifth floor club and lounge. A uniformed staff member took their luggage and herded them into the proper hallway. Elaborate wall scones and five-foot tall flower arrangements led them to their suite.

"I keep expecting a snotty voiceover to tell me that I'm on a hidden camera reality show," Lois muttered.

Clark scanned a wide radius around them. "I don't hear or see anything very--" He stopped in his tracks.

Lois froze as well. "What is it?"

"A voice from the past. Which room did we have again?"

"Five-five-seven."

He strode the rest of the way down the hall with Lois fast on his heels. Suite 557 was at the very end of the hall, a simple, narrow door in comparison to the rest of the furnishings. Automatically placing himself between Lois and danger, Clark focussed his vision past the door, past the suite's foyer and into the room's occupants.

A woman perched on a high-backed Louis VXI sofa. Her hair was swept up in a French twist with a pearl and ruby clip holding the immaculate hair-do in place. On the other side of the sofa was a man staring at his clasped hands. They avoided looking at each other. The man took a sip of wine, grimaced and went back to staring at his hands. Lana Lang. Pete Ross.

The television filled the loaded silence between them. "Alexander Luthor was the first independent presidential candidate voted into office, garnering a near-even split between the Republicans and Demoratic parties. Current re-election polls indicate a high--"

Lana's lips tightened. "Can you turn that off, please?"

Pete waited until the anchor finished her sentence then switched to a cooking show.

"Hey." Lois patted Clark's arm. "What is it?"

" Lana and Pete," he said.

"Lana Lang? The sun around which you orbited for the first twenty years of your life Lana? Great." If she had heat vision, Lois would have burnt the door off its hinges.

Clark eased his posture. "Lane, your claws are showing."

"You leave me and my claws out of this argument, Kent. Bad enough I have to deal with that bikini-clad Amazonian fetishist prancing around you with her golden dominatrix rope--"

"Please, don't call it a dominatrix rope, it's-- oh, never mind." Clark rolled his eyes. This was a doomed conversation.

"-- but now the girlfriend of Christmas Past is right behind that door. Clark, I saw what you were like back then! You were obsessed with her. It was like this dark, limpid pool of Lana Langness from whence you could never escape. She's the blackhole of love angst!" Lois degenerated to arm flailing.

"That was over ten years ago. Isn't it time you got over that?"

"Says the man who took a whole week before letting a certain Hugh Hefner wanna-be into your little clubhouse."

"That's different. He was leering at you."

"Clark, Bruce leers at everyone. It's part of his disguise. If it's breathing and female, he leers at it." Lois thought for a moment. "You know, maybe it doesn't even have to be breathing or female; it just has to have an orifice. But that's beside the point. _I_ didn't start pining for Bruce when I was in diapers."

"No, you only pranced around in skirts five inches long on your date with him._I_ don't even see you in five-inch skirts."

"They were two business lunches before we were seriously together and besides,_you_ see me naked."

Clark had to concede to that. "Whatever, Lane. Let's get this over with for Chloe's sake."

Lois sighed. "You're right. You know me and emotional stress." At his forgiving smile, she scanned the passkey through the electronic reader. The door's magnetic lock tumbled open. They braced themselves for the reunion.

Pete jumped to his feet when they entered. "I thought I'd see you two." He strode forward to clasp Clark's hand. In response, Clark hauled him into a full, back-slapping hug. Outside of family, they had known Chloe the longest. There'd been a time when the three of them were inseparable, finishing each other's sentences and each others' homework.

"Something's got to happen next," said Clark. "This just isn't right."

"I know," Pete said. "If she jumped out of the closet and call it a trick, I don't think I'd be mad."

"Much."

"Much." They broke the embrace but stayed close. "I always thought I'd go first." At Clark's protestations, Pete said, "I was the most ordinary, let's admit that much. You're you and Chloe was practically made of Teflon."

Sensing an even deeper pit of depression in the near future, Lois interrupted the conversation. "Come on, Ross, you're selling yourself short. It's not every guy who becomes a consul before he hits thirty."

Pete grinned weakly. "Lois. I'm being an idiot. I'm so sorry for your loss."

"The loss is all ours," said Lois, accepting his embrace. "You and Clark are practically family, you know that. The goatee's hot on you, Ross." She flashed a flirtatious smile at Clark. "What do you think, Smallville? Want to grow a little scruff? It might be fun."

Clark returned the smile. "God help us from any more of your fun, Lane. I've barely recovered from the last time we--" He stopped himself just in time, coughing in embarrassment.

Pete looked at Clark's reddened cheeks then at Lois, who was all too pleased with herself, then back at Clark. Stepping back, he slapped his thigh and let out a chuckle.

"We didn't realise you were married," said Lana. She remained on the couch, perfectly poised.

As always, Clark and Lois tripped over the explanation for their relationship. "We aren't really--"

"Oh no, it's not--"

"-- been a while now--"

"-- nothing official--"

"-- Clark's afraid of tuxes--"

"-- Lois hates pomp--"

They stared at each other. "We're just together."

"You seem to be very happy," said Lana. "I'm so pleased for you althugh I can't say I'm surprised."

"Lana." In five of his long-legged strides, Clark crossed the room to her side. She rose, wringing her manicured hands. He almost hugged her; Lois braced herself for the rush of jealousy that she knew was unfounded but couldn't prevent. Lana was just so _beautiful_. Lois was no slouch in the self-confidence department; she was aware of her own looks, how to flatter her features and she knew for a fact that in the right wrapping, her legs could turn Clark into a gibbering wreck. But there was something about Lana's porcelain delicacy that set her teeth on edge.

Clark must have sensed that because in the end, he only took Lana's hands and kissed her cheek lightly. She returned the kiss quickly. "It's been too long, Clark."

"Much too long. Mom was just wondering about you."

"Mrs. Kent, mother to everyone. Is she still in office?"

"No, she retired... I guess four years ago now." Clark held a hand out for Lois who came to his side and staked out a seat in the plush love seat across from the antique sofa. "She's back to managing the farm."

Lana and Pete also sat. "All that land by herself?" asked Lana.

"She's hired a few hands, local kids mostly. Also, half of the land is donated to Met U as part of their research into naturopathic remedies. Having the college around has really breathed new life into Smallville. The Talon is a movie theatre again albeit in three floors and digital surround sound," Clark teased.

Lana only smiled wistfully. "It would be fun to see it."

"You should."

Lana and Pete exchanged cryptic looks. "Smallville's a little dangerous for Lana," said Pete. "Anything in the States is as a matter of fact."

"Is this about Luthor?" asked Lois. "'Cause I'll have you know, we--"

Someone rapped smartly on the door. Clark automatically skimmed through the barrier to check for intruders as Pete stood to answer it. Two men stood behind the door, the older one facing them and the other, leaning away. The latter's heart was racing although he breathed at an easy pace.

"Are you ready?" asked the calmer man.

"Whatever," replied the second one, shrugging with so much nonchalance that it had to be faked.

"Everything will be all right, I'm sure."

"Yeah, look, I just want to get this over with, okay?"

"Of course."

Clark stood. "Pete, maybe I should answer it."

Without a word, Pete stepped back but stayed within arm's reach. Lois positioned herself out of view as a third line of defence. To her surprise, Lana pulled a compact pistol out of her clutch.

"Who is it?" asked Clark.

"Ramir Boutboul, sir, with Conner Sullivan."

_Conner Sullivan?_ Clark mouthed the name at Lois but it was Lana who caught his attention. The hand holding the pistol dropped to her side, the other hand covered her gasp.

Clark opened the door. On the other side was a perfect photocopy of himself at age fourteen.

-----

To his credit, Boutboul looked as flabbergasted as everyone else in the room. He blinked through frameless glasses, his gaze bouncing between Clark and Conner over and over. Pete, Lana and Lois did the same with various speeds in dawning revelation.

Lois broke the hypnotic pingponging exchange of gaping. "Looks like you've been holding out on us, too, Smallville."

Clark whirled around so quickly his glasses nearly fell off. "Lois, I promise you I... Chloe and I _never_... I think I'd remember... I mean, even... wait..." He pressed two fingers against his temple.

"Hey." Lois squeezed his arm. _I believe you_, her eyes said.

_I would never keep something like this from you,_ he replied in the same manner.

_I know._

Conner's shock broke on a much more heated note. "If this is about living with_him_, I'm not going to do it. I've been fine all this time without him and I sure as hell don't want anything to do with him now!"

Clark visibly crumpled at his words. Family meant so much to him, not only because of his upbringing but because he knew he was the last of his kind. To have a blood relative say something like that... stabbing him with a shard of kryptonite would have been kinder.

Her temper stoked, Lois marched up to the teenager and poked her finger into his chest. "Listen, buddy, we might not have known you but I know Chloe and she would have been damned pissed off that you're talking to someone you barely know like that."

Discreetly, Boutboul cleared his throat and shut the rest of the hallway out of the erupting drama. "Ladies, gentlemen, if you haven't already deduced, this is Conner Sullivan, Chloe Sullivan's son."

"And he's is so out of here, you won't even have time to eat his dust." Conner made for the door but Boutboul was there before him. For a little guy, he was pretty spry, Lois reflected.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sullivan, but your mother's will explicitly requires you to stay here with the rest of the guests until this evening." Boutboul pulled a package out of his briefcase. It was wrapped in brown paper and otherwise featureless. "As soon as I leave the room, you may open this package. I will return at eleven o' clock sharp with the rest of the instructions. Good day, gentlemen, ladies." With a smart little bow, he marched out of the door.

Pete reached for the package but Clark waved him away. He waited until his footsteps reached the elevator before saying, "Let me have a look at it first."

"A bomb doesn't really tick, you know," said Conner. When the adults stared at him, he explained, "I told you, I can take care of myself. Mom taught me a lot of stuff."

"Even if that's true, I should still scan it," said Clark. "Everyone step back."

"I told you, I don't --"

Lois shoved him, gently, on the shoulder. "Just move, Junior."

A metal box encased whatever the package was holding. Clark focused another layer deeper and found a portable DVD player, the kind found in any electronics department of any store. It already held batteries and a DVD. Everything scanned cool; no suspicious chemicals or extra devices hung from the player.

"I think we're okay," Clark said. He ripped the wrapping paper off. The metal box had a combination lock, the sort found in luggage but with seven dials instead of the usual five.

Pete whistled. "Jeez, Chloe, what's in this thing, a map to the fountain of youth?"

"This is Chloe," said Lana. "That's not a bad guess."

Conner shot her a glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing bad," Lana said. She still had a vaguely shocked look about her, like she had to drink in as much information as possible on this scene.

While Conner was distracted, Clark crushed the lock between his thumb and forefinger. "Huh. I guess it's not as tight as it looks," he said, jiggling the box hard. "I wonder if we should follow up on the warrantee--"

"Smallville." Lois said, her impatience only half-joking.

"Um, right." He opened the box and drew out the DVD player. Setting it on the coffee table, he waited for everyone to take a seat before pressing play.

The strange thing about getting older, in Lois' opinion, was that while you were_aware_ of time passing, you never actually felt it. Here she was on the verge of thirty-five and she still felt like a twenty-year-old. She'd celebrated around fifteen of Clark's birthdays and knew, logically, that he wasn't the apple-cheeked country boy with too-large hands and wide eyes she first met. She knew, logically, that Chloe was the same age as Clark and would have had to change. Even that didn't prepare her for _seeing_ Chloe as an adult.

"Oh my God." Lois leaned forward. "Oh, jeez, Two-Bit, when did you stop being so little?"

It wasn't that Chloe looked bad. Someone who hadn't known her in high school would not have guessed her age past twenty-five. But weariness pulled her eyes down and lines bracketed her mouth. Lois chose to believe they were laugh lines. She still wore her hair short but, like Lois', it had gotten darker.

"Hi guys," said Chloe from the recording. "If you're watching this, I'm dead and I meant it this time. No faking, no kidnappings, just plain old gone."

Lana let out a squeak and buried her face in Pete's shoulder. He cupped her head, a little stiffly, Clark though. He filed the reaction away for future gnawing.

Chloe laced her fingers together. "First of all, I want to say I'm sorry. There's a reason I stayed out of touch with everyone and his name is Conner. I had to protect him."

Conner cursed under his breath, ignoring the swift sidelong glances from the others in the room.

"That said, my second point is this: I'm onto something big. Really massive. Pulitzer stuff if we're still competing, Lois." She winked, making Lois sniffle. "Of course, since you guys are watching this, I probably didn't finish it. Just remember me in your byline. It would be an honour to be named beside the famous-- or is it infamous?-- Lane and Kent writing team. All the information I have is split up and stored away in several different places. You all have everything you need to figure out where they are and how to decode them; you just have to figure it out. Like Nancy Drew or X-Files, right? We'll see if my lessons in paranoia sank in.

"Okay, now for the tough parts." The video skipped as Chloe's expression twisted. She reached for the camera then, a second later, much more composed but with a slightly redder nose, the video stilled. "Whoa. Okay, I knew that was going to be tough but I haven't even started and the waterworks went off. Clark, Lois, you know what I'm talking about. We're all writers because text can edit itself. We can go back and change things, make ourselves sound wittier, smarter and more put together than we are in real life. We could never seem to get the right words out when spoken."

Clark had to laugh with her at that. Pete and Lois smiled as well, watery ones. Lana had long since dipped into her clutch for Kleenex and had a steadily growing pile on the side table.

"So here's my attempt to be verbally adept and sincere and maybe in the end, I'd've convinced you that I didn't write and re-write this part ten times." Chloe sniffled. "Pete, you always protected me. You were the first one to make friends with me when I moved to Smallville and even when you lost patience with me, you were always on my side. I know now why you had to cover up for Clark so many times and I just want you to know that I never resented you for that. That was just you being you. There's this old fable about the sun and the wind competing to get a man to remove his coat. The wind blew and blew until he always blew out a tornado but the man only clutched his coat tighter. Then the sun came out. He just came out and shined down on the man and within minutes, the man took his coat off. You're like that sun. You're going to rule the world someday with your gentleness. God knows you don't need it but I'm leaving you my dad's office desk, you know, the one we carved our names into and then patched up badly 'cause Clark had an attack of conscience?

"Lana." Here Chloe's self-deprecating grin showed through the sadness. "You and me, we've been through a lot, haven't we? I'm not going to say much because we've talked before but I just... please, after you watch this, tell them about _that_ conversation, okay? It's not my story to tell and they all need to hear it."

Lana blew her nose and nodded. "Whatever you say, Chloe."

"I also want to thank you so much," Chloe continued. "You gave me the most wonderful, most precious..." She paused, eyes drifting off camera as though looking for a prompt. "Your gift is the reason I exist, I think. So again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. My lawyer's going to give you a key to a storage rental just outside Versailles. You can have everything in it-- memorabilia, clippings, everything I know you'll treasure.

"Lois, you better not be beating someone up. You know that never really helps."

That gave the audience a much needed relief from the gloom especially since Lois had been strangling a pillow throughout the video so far.

"Chloe, you big goof," said Lois.

Almost as if she could hear them, Chloe winked again. "I really looked up to you as a kid, literally and figuratively. Most literally once we hit puberty and I stopped growing. You're the sister I've always wanted-- you're fun, smart, protective as hell and you're just not afraid of anything. Lately I've been afraid of--" Chloe sighed then waved the thought away. "Anyway, I just want to say that I love you and you're the best. I may have started writing before you but you've always been my hero in that department. I'm giving you my laptop and all my files; I know you'll use that information."

Clark raised Lois' hands to his lips. He hadn't let go since the video started; he was afraid he'd crush her hand when Chloe's message for him came up.

"So now it's Clark's turn." Chloe shook her head. "You probably know this, but I honed my investigative skills on you. I couldn't understand how someone as nice and genuinely good could be so invisible to everyone else in Smallville. It's like you had this aura of goodness around you that everyone else took for granted, even yourself. I want you to know that I'm proud of you even though I'm freakin' petrified at the same time. Take care of yourself. Let Lois take care of you. And never worry because you're the most human person I know. I love you buckets, Clark. I always will."

"Love you, Chloe." Clark touched the screen with his fingertips.

"I've written you in as co-executor of all my finances on the grounds that you hold them in trust until Conner's of age. You'll be sharing guardianship with Lois."

"What?" Conner yelped but was quickly hushed by Lois' glare.

"I'd also like you to go through Dad's house in Smallville. You know what I'd like to leave with Conner and, well..." The video crackled again. When it cleared, Chloe had removed her sweater. "Last but most definitely not least, Conner. If you turn around and roll your eyes, young man, I will reach out from the grave and smack you, so help me God."

Conner blushed; he was about to do just that. Instead, with a self-conscious glance over his shoulder, he settled on the floor inches from the monitor.

"Conner, my baby, even now that you're almost six feet tall." Chloe smiled beatifically. "Let's get the useless stuff out of the way: like I said, you get the money, all the investments and all the royalties from my writing, the house in Smallville and the condo there in London. The money will be held in trust until you turn eighteen as long as you finish school and training with your guardians.

"When I was composing this, I had to come to grips with the fact that the English language is really damn pitiful. Here I am, trying to succinctly express all the stuff--" here Chloe spread her arms wide-- "that I feel for you and the thesaurus tells me that the word for it is 'love.' We use that word so easily these days; I can say I love pizza and Orlando Bloom and Brussels in the fall but those definitions don't even cover a fraction of a millionth of the emotions that come up when I think of you. The day you came into my life-- a miniature, wrinkly, red old man in a stocking cap and plaid-- was the most terrifying day that I can remember but I have never regretted it. I could never regret a second of my life with you. I only wish that you could have grown up with my family, the people in the room with you right now, because they would have given you even more love because you should _have_ all of that. You _deserve_ all of that. Whatever you learn today, never, ever, _ever_ doubt that I love you. You're the best part of my life."

"Geez, Mom!" Conner rubbed at his face, his forehead wrinkled with emotion.

Chloe blew a kiss at the camera. "Okay, care and feeding instructions: don't eat too much junk food and make sure to do your homework as soon as you get home from school. Don't over-do anything but don't slack off either. Make sure you brush your teeth every night. Um, God, what else is a motherly thing to say?"

"Shun CNN?" Conner suggested, his head hidden in his arms.

"Oh, yeah." Chloe snapped her fingers. "Shun CNN. I love you, sweetie."

The video flipped to black.


	2. Chapter 2

Lois walked up behind Clark and wrapped her arms around his waist, her cheek resting on his back.

"The railing on this balcony has seven thousand, two hundred eight crystalline fragments. Of those fragments, five thousand six hundred forty-eight are quartz, one thousand nine hundred thirty-three are ground garnet and the remaining are plain silica. I figure if I count every grain component on this balcony, I won't fly out of my skin," he said. "There's five muggings going on right now within a three mile radius. Fire trucks are rushing out eleven miles northwest."

"The League can take care of it," said Lois.

"I don't_want_ the League to take care of it," said Clark. "I want to be out there. Not here. I can't fix this, Lois, I want--" His head sank. "This is why Chloe kept him a secret. She knew I wouldn't be able to commit to raising a child with the kind of life I've chosen. I can barely find the time to be with you and --"

Lois rubbed circles on his stomach. "Shut up, Smallville. I declare a kibosh on your angst for the next hour."

"But I--"

She slapped a hand over his mouth. Considering he stood a good six inches above her, one of her fingers nearly spelunked up one of his nostrils but they'd been together long enough to be intimate in even the most non-romantic manner. "Chloe had her reasons but I'm sure your inability to parent was way, way down the list. With your dad as an example, how bad could you be at it?"

Clark stilled her hands, caressing the skin between her thumb and forefinger. "I'd say something but there's a dang kibosh."

"Boutboul isn't coming back until tonight," said Lois. "I have a feeling that we're going to be in for a lot more revelations including what Lana knows about this whole thing--"

"Lana with a secret. There's a huge turn-around."

"--and whether or not Junior inherited more from you than your stunning good looks and sad lack of fashion sense."

"What's wrong with my fashion sense these days? Nary a strip of plaid in sight, Lane."

"That's because I'm the one who buys your clothes these days, honey buns."

"I sincerely hope you don't really call him honey buns," Pete said, holding the balcony door open. "Sorry for interrupting but Conner's getting twitchy and Lana wants to get something off her chest before the kid bolts."

"I'd better head him off," said Clark. Regretfully disengaging Lois' arms from around his waist, he dropped a kiss on her lips, whispered "I love you" around her earring and set himself to interacting with Conner.

Pete took up his position on the balustrade. Handing Lois one of the drinks in his hand, he said, "There was a time I thought I'd have to cut off both my arms before I saw Clark be that openly affectionate with someone. His parents, sure, but everyone else had to stay out of the ten foot personal space he set up for himself."

"What's in this drink?" asked Lois.

"It's lemon fizz. Kind of like Sprite or 7-Up at ten times the price." He raised his own glass in a little toast. "You're stalling."

"You're a good diplomat."

"Yet another talent for which I have Clark to thank. Reading anyone's body language is easy when you grow up with the Boy Scout over there."

Lois took a sip of her drink. "Did you figure it out or did he tell you?"

"A bit of both. Weird things always happened around Clark but I guess I just chalked it up to your average Smallville weirdness. Clark told me when we were fifteen; I figured out his second job around 2011 especially after I saw what was on his uniform." Pete drew an "S" on his chest.

Nodding, Lois said, "It's funny seeing him like that. He turns into a completely different person. He has this... presence that makes me want to stay away."

"Does he scare you?"

"No," Lois immediately denied. "It's not like when he's hit with Red or Black K. The best I can explain it is like looking into an alternate universe. He's not _my_ Clark even though he hasn't put on a mask or changed any of his personality traits."

"Body language," Pete said.

"I guess." Uncomfortable with the conversation-- she knew _about_ Pete Ross but had never really _known_ him-- Lois turned the line of questioning over. "So what's with you and Lana? You don't have to be an investigative reporter to see that there's something going on there."

Pete chuckled and it was almost convincing. He raised his left hand; an etched gold band circled his ring finger. "Married."

Lois' jaw dropped. "Wow. She's--" _Like the town bicycle_, her brain wickedly supplied but she held back-- "She's really something to get all the boys in her yard so to speak. Do kids still say 'in the yard'? I have a feeling I dated myself."

This time Pete's laughter was genuine. "Clark never talks and you can't seem to stop. I'm beginning to see why this relationship works."

"Yeah. We're a dynamic duo all right." Lois watched Clark through the glass doors, her hand on her stomach to cup the feeling of joy that always warmed her when she thought of her lover.

When he stepped inside, Clark found the common room empty. A quick aural and visual scan showed Lana in one of the bedrooms, rummaging through a large bag. Conner lay on the floor with his feet up on the couch and his headphones blaring. Obviously, he didn't inherit Clark's super hearing, at least not yet.

Hands in his pocket, he walked casually over. "Hi."

The boy lifted an eyebrow but didn't remove his headphones.

"Uh, who're you listening to? It's... it's got a good beat."

He didn't answer for such a long time that Clark almost repeated the question. "Rhadasquat," Conner said curtly. Closing his eyes, he pressed the volume up on his player.

Clark was torn. He wanted to drink in the sight of him but at the same time, he knew he wouldn't be welcome. In the other room, Lana's pain also called out to his knight-in-shining-spandex complex, as Lois called it. He took a moment to mentally smack himself in the face. Here he was, supposedly the greatest hero in the world in terms of sheer number of powers, and he was scared stiff of confronting his first love and a teenage boy.

_The more things change, huh, Kent?_

She was on the phone, speaking in a sing-song French to an obviously young audience. "Darling, I know. Mommy and Daddy miss you too but we promise we'll be back as soon as possible. We're just... very, very sad right now. Of course I want your hugs, darling. I'll always want your hugs. As soon as we come home, I'm going to hug you and never let go, okay?"

Lana was a mother. Was everyone else in the world having kids? Even Ollie's apprentice, Roy, had a sweet little girl named Lian. Not for the first time, an ache blossomed in Clark's chest but, with the ease of practice, he tamped it down. He would have still been standing there if Lana hadn't re-entered the room. She only paused for a moment upon seeing him, her smile quickly flashing into place. A little too quickly considering the way they parted before she disappeared.

"I needed some props for my big reveal," she said, holding up a small digital album. "You're looking well, Clark."

"So are you," he said politely. He saw the ring on her finger. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your phone call. Lana Lang's a mommy."

She inclined her head toward the balcony where Lois and Pete were laughing, probably about him or Lana or both. "A couple times over, actually. And Pete's the daddy." She showed him a picture on the album. Their daughters-- hardly more than babies-- grinned toothlessly in matching velvet dresses and curly pigtails.

"Pete? Really?" Clark hugged her without reservation this time. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you. Pete's a great guy."

"He's the best." Lana smiled but it never really reached her eyes. "He wanted to invite you for the wedding but... well, that's another story."

"So why don't we get started?" said Pete. He closed the balcony door behind Lois who held their two empty glasses.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Clark said to Pete, "I heard I owe you a very belated congratulations on your marriage."

He looked surprised. "Thanks. It was pretty simple: Just Lana, me and a judge and a witness. It was the dinner that the consulate threw us afterwards that was the big deal."

"Where's the kid?" said Lois. She dropped the glasses on an ornately carved side buffet before spotting Conner on the floor.

"I don't think he wants to--" Clark began.

"Let me deal with him, Smallville. I speak Teen-Angst." She nudged his side with the tip of her shoe. "Want to take those off, Junior?"

Conner glared.

Lois tapped her ears. "The headphones go," she enunciated, miming the removal of the headphones.

Sighing hurriedly, Conner complied. "I'm not a junior," he muttered as she got to his feet.

"It's either that or Mini Me, kid."

"Who?"

Lois gaped. "You've never seen the Austin Powers trilogy? Obviously your upbringing is lacking."

Whirling around, his fists clenched, Conner said, "There's _nothing_ wrong with my upbringing! You take that back!" In his hurry, his hand smacked against the Louis XVI sofa. A fist-sized chunk of the carved wood and upholstery came away in his hand. As he watched, horrified, the rest of the backrest shuddered and fell off.

And Clark thought it couldn't get any more awkward.

As always, Lois broke the silence. "Okay, so that answers a lot of my questions."

"And it's a pretty good segue into mine," said Lana. Pointedly, she sat on the broken sofa, her hand resting on one of the splintered ends. With a faraway look on her face, she started to talk.

* * *

_Fifteen years ago..._

Lana hugged her purse to her stomach as though the overstuffed hunk of leather could shield her body. An abandoned car, a train and two cabs in a circular route through Missouri and back to Kansas left her with weariness to battle against, not Lex's bodyguards. Metropolis' bright lights hurt her eyes, increasing her nausea.

"Stop here," she told the cab driver.

"You sure, ma'am?" The cabbie eyed her pregnant stomach with alarm. "It's not safe to be walking around at night these days, especially in your condition."

"I'll be fine. I'm meeting a friend."

"Want me to wait until your friend comes? Only half price."

"I'll be fine, really." Handing him fare with too much tip, she hurried to the closest residential tower. All the shops underneath it except for an internet café were closed. Lana slipped into the café, for once pleased with the disinterest of the graveyard shift.

She slipped into one of the booths and brought up a free email service. Within minutes, she used her brand new email address to contact Chloe's cell phone.

_CK in danger. Meet LL in 20 min where we got the freesias._

After signing off, she paid the yawning cashier and left. Her slacks were too conspicuous-- not many people went around in pinstripes at two in the morning. Lana slipped into a fast food place to change into another outfit, her third clothing change since leaving the house. Lex would be horrified to see her in second-hand sweats but the drawstring pants and over-sized sweatshirt hid her stomach.

When she exited the restaurant, Lana passed by the dumpster in the alleyway. Retrieving only her phone, wallet and passport, she threw the rest of the bag into the open bin. That bag cost seven hundred dollars; the lucky dumpster diver who found it would be warm for weeks pawning that thing and all its contents.

Lana caught another cab to the posh residential neighbourhood, walked two blocks and hailed a new one to take her back to the tourist district. The flower boutique she'd specified was closed, of course, but it was housed in a neo-classical building with a row of thick Corinthian columns, perfect for hiding.

She recognized Chloe's jacket right away. Stepping out of the shadows, Lana called out her name.

Chloe spun around, a can of mace held stiff-armed in front of her. "Lana?" Lana motioned for quiet so Chloe continued in a whisper. "Okay, I've never seen you in baggy sweats in... ever. How do I know you're you?"

"On my wedding day, you got locked in the meat freezer looking for Lex's present which I forgot in all the stress."

Chloe relaxed. "When I got the text, I wasn't sure which 'LL' I was supposed to meet."

"You've been to other weddings recently?" An uncharacteristic urge overcame her and Lana swept Chloe up in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you came. I really need your help."

"Of course. That's what maid of honours are for."

Lana let out a sharp sound that might have been a laugh. "I should've followed my first impulse and asked you to drive the getaway car."

Chloe's eyes widened.

"I'm leaving Lex," Lana confirmed. "I have to go right now, tonight, but I need someone to help me cover my tracks and cut all my ties."

Perceptive as always, Chloe's eyes dropped to Lana's stomach. At seven months, she barely showed but the baby pressed heavily on her spine for such a little thing.

"Look, I'm as feminist as they come but are you really going to get rid--"

"No," Lana said. "Not that I haven't thought of it but he's too much of a person in my head already. None of this is his fault."

"So what do you need me for?"

"I have two flights reserved under my name. One goes to Australia, the other one's for Stockholm."

"Lex can trace those purchases."

"I took the cash out of the Talon." At Chloe's shocked look-- her eyes were going to pop out of her head soon-- Lana said, "I know it's wrong but trust me it would be even more awful if Lex gets his hands on this baby."

"He won't be getting any father of the year awards," said Chloe.

"It's worse than that." Lana swallowed the bile rising up her throat.

"We should get Clark to help."

"No! That's the first person Lex would suspect. Whatever happens, Clark can't get involved in this. His life depends on it." She gripped Chloe's hand in a vice-like hold.

"Clark isn't as helpless as he looks--" Chloe began but Lana interrupted.

"I know about Clark's powers but Lionel has a way around it. He showed it to me and showed me... he had these videos of their effect."

"Let me guess," said Chloe. "It's shiny and green?"

Lana nodded. "And the size of a basketball. They've been synthesizing them for years now and--" Her watch beeped. "I have to go to the airport. Take this." She gave Chloe an envelope. "It has the plane ticket to Australia, one of my debit cards, three credit cards and PINs. Lex thinks I'm on a business trip that stops over there--"

"At seven months?"

Lana smiled, not bothering to hide her bitterness this time. "I'm a Luthor now. I can do whatever I damn well want."

Chloe's expression went soft.

"Once you get to Australia, leave him a text message with this cell phone. And then buy as many tickets to anywhere with the money and the cards. The flight comes back to Metropolis International in three hours."

"I'm not going to abandon you pregnant and alone in Stockholm," Chloe protested.

"Lex will find us if we travel together. I don't want you or your dad to get hurt."

"Believe me, if it means hurting the Luthors, my dad will be all for it."

Still, Lana hesitated. "It's dangerous."

"Please! I've had intimate relations with danger since I turned fourteen." Seemingly on impulse, Chloe rooted through her purse and came out with what looked like a wireless headset for a phone. "Take this. When you're safe, press the top button. It'll call me on a very secure line. If you don't get me, just tell the other person that Watchtower gave it to you."

"Where did you get this?"

"Let's just say that the Luthors aren't the only ones who have cutting edge technology." Chloe winked and hugged her again, quickly and hard. "Okay, so you have enough money? Go grab a cab. I'll go back to my place and take one from there."

Lana hesitated. "I just realised you're going to miss work because of this."

"Are you kidding me? Do you know what I could write from this adventure? Now shoo. If I don't hear from you in a week, I'm calling the troops."

Lana knew she was being selfish again by putting Chloe in danger but she eagerly did as she was told. All that mattered now was getting away from Lex. With Metropolis International only thirty minutes away, she was in the air within an hour. The flight itself, including a stop-over in Chicago, took half a day, twelve of the most excruciating hours in Lana's life. The baby squashed her bladder, her lower spine and all the nerves and blood vessels to her feet. When she wasn't in pain, she kept expecting Lex or a Luthor bodyguard to pop out of the bathroom.

From Stockholm, she withdrew as much money as she could out of her credit cards. Some she kept in dollars, others she traded for euros and a little bit into Swedish _krona_. Then she bought several tickets to random cities using all three types of currencies. By luck of the draw, Lana hopped on another plane to Japan where she repeated her travelling obfuscation. An exhausting two flights later, she found herself collapsing in a hotel room in Barcelona, hungry with no sense of time and a broken internal clock.

That was where Chloe met up with her a month later.

"How do you manage to look like you but still very much a part of the city?" asked Lana as she waddled to their table.

"Omigosh, look at you!" Chloe stood to give her a hug and a kiss which Lana accepted. Until this moment, she didn't realise how much she missed her Smallville friends. "You exploded. Not in a bad way but your tummy's huge!"

Lana patted her stomach. "Spanish food agrees with him," she said. "You should see how many potato omelettes I can put away."

A server came by to serve their drinks and tapas. "You don't seem to be doing half-bad blending in either," Chloe noted.

"I guess high school Spanish is actually useful," said Lana. "Besides, I just work at a call centre. Most of us are British or American expats so it's easy to communicate. Enough about me though; you need plausible deniability."

Chloe's forehead wrinkled. "Lex has gone slightly postal if by 'slightly', you mean 'completely'. He's turning over the whole country looking for you. You're on every milk carton and newspaper in every major city. He even tried to shake down your Aunt Nell. Clark has his hands full dealing with him." Chloe took her hands, staring earnestly into her eyes. "Lana, you have to let me in on some of this. I stalled as much as possible by buying two dozen tickets for all over the States but he's going to start looking overseas soon and I only have a week's vacation. You don't have anyone here to help if he comes for you."

Looking away, Lana extricated one of her hands to rub her stomach.

"Is it the baby?" Chloe persisted. "I can see why someone like Lex would want to father an empire of megalomaniacs so maybe you're pouring salt into that particular wound?" When Lana didn't answer, she kept on guessing. "Did he hit you? Or threaten you? Did you find out something grossly illegal?"

"All of the above," Lana said finally. "Well, he hasn't hit me but he came close."

"Omigosh, Lana, I'm going to kill that bastard!"

She shook her head. "I'm beginning to think he's part cat; nine lives all of them lying and--" She broke off, biting her lip in an effort to keep it from trembling. "He had cameras everywhere in the house, watching me. When I found out, I turned it around. I watched him for a while. I overheard him talking with Dr. Langston."

Chloe squeezed Lana's hand as she swallowed down her sobs.

"Lex_implanted_ an embryo in me," said Lana, spitting out the scientific word. "I don't know when or how but they were talking about the baby like it was an experiment. Like he isn't even human."

"Do you know what they did to the baby?" Chloe asked softly.

"They were vague about it so I broke into Dr. Langston's files later."

Grinning, Chloe said, "All right, Lana."

Lana couldn't help but return the smile even as she weighed the wisdom of telling Chloe everything. In the end, she didn't have a choice. "Outside of a few genetic stabilizers, they cloned the baby from Clark."

Chloe's jaw dropped. She fell back against the chair, her face bloodless. "Oh no. How did he get any of Clark's DNA?"

"I don't know. But the whole--" Lana searched for a better word than "experiment"-- "process had a ninety-five percent failure rate. He was the first embryo to make it past the five-week stage. They've been giving me all these drugs and even after I found out, I kept taking them 'cause I'm afraid of what might happen to me or the baby if I don't. But then again, what if the drugs are making the baby worse, making him mutate more? I've gained eighty pounds but only look like I've added thirty. I'm due any week now but I haven't had anything remotely like false labour. I think I've developed some sort of seasonal depression, too; when it's cloudy, I can barely make it out of bed but when the sun's out, I'm get hyper. I eat like a cow!"

"Lana, calm down!" Chloe shoved a glass of water into her hands. Lana took it gratefully, gulping the contents down.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You're the first person-- the only person-- I've been able to unload all of this to. I just feel... I thought I could trust Lex. I thought he of all people wouldn't keep secrets from me and I... _God_ I _hate_ him!" She uttered the word viciously. "He's been lying to me all this time but not only that, he's been lying about using me! About loving me. At least with... at least before it was only a matter of trust. This is... when I think about how he manipulated my weaknesses, I could just..."

"Wow," said Chloe. "I've never seen you this worked up."

Lana took a deep breath. "I've never been this worked up. Sometimes... You're going to think I'm horrible, but sometimes I wish I'd miscarry so I wouldn't have anything left of Lex tied to me. Then the baby kicks and I remember that I want to name him Lewis Henry and that you and me spent a whole day shopping for one measly pair of baby booties. I just... he's just a baby. He hasn't even been born yet and he's already been manipulated." She dropped her head in her hands. "The worst part is that I _know_ Lex will find me and the baby. Can you imagine Lex as a father? Or Lionel as a grandfather? I wouldn't want those two to raise a gerbil never mind a child."

"Put that way, death _is_ preferable," Chloe said. She sat back, munching on an olive. "Lex would consider the baby his property especially if he's Clark's clone. I'm not sure if you've noticed but your hubby is creepily obsessed with our mutual tall, dark and covert friend."

"Believe me, I have. That's part of the reason why he'll never give up looking for us. So I thought..." Lana drew out the second word. "What if there was no baby?"

Chloe gasped. "I thought you said that you weren't aborting him. It's too late any way, he's almost to term. And besides, isn't abortion illegal in Spain?"

"No, no, of course not! I meant, what if I give the baby away? I could tell Lex that while I was trying to get away, I miscarried. Meanwhile, a nice, childless, Spanish couple could have a little surprise on their doorstep."

Gulping down her sangria, Chloe shook her head. "Look, this isn't my story to tell but Clark is... well, you know how Smallville is weird? Well, Clark is one hundred percent Smallville. I can't explain--"

"I know about Clark," Lana said slowly.

"You... do?"

"I know he has powers. I spied on you on my wedding day when he rescued you from the freezer. He's a meteor mutant, isn't he?"

Shaking her head even more violently, Chloe said, "I plead my rights as a secret keeper. I honestly can neither confirm nor deny anything. Hey, did you trap me in that freezer on purpose?"

Lana only offered a tight-lipped smile. "So leaving a mutant baby with unsuspecting strangers may not be a go?"

"For one thing, how do you know they won't freak out and tell all the tabloids?" asked Chloe. "Then Lex would know you lied to him _and_ he'll get the baby then declare you an unfit parent so you can't get custody. Or they could just hand him over to the state to be an experiment for the Spanish government. The best case scenario is that they don't tell anyone but they won't be able to deal with a mutant baby."

"So what do I do?" Lana demanded. "I won't roll over and give up on him."

"Give him to me," Chloe said promptly.

Now it was Lana's turn to gape.

Forging through the silence, Chloe said, "You know you can trust me. I know Clark's powers so I should be able to handle a kid with the same abilities. I have friends who can help out, not-quite-legal friends who can protect me if Lex comes snooping around."

"But Lex knows you're my friend and Clark's," Lana pointed out. "He'll track down every available avenue. You're probably in the top five."

Chloe swatted the problem away. "How long since your marriage have we talked? Maybe once over the phone? You can tell him that we fought and aren't friends any more. As for Clark, if I relocate to a different country-- say, Barcelona-- I'll lose touch with him, too. We did have a whole year where we were incommunicado. Besides, I'm a journalist. Travelling is part of the job."

The idea had its merits but Lana didn't want to let her mercenary streak take advantage of Chloe. "I can't ask you to leave a life you've made for yourself. You have the _Planet_, a boyfriend, school..."

"I offered," said Chloe. From that point on, she was immovable.

* * *

Brow wrinkled and eyes narrowed, Conner said, "I call bullshit. My birth certificate says 'Chloe Sullivan' under 'mother'. She carried me for almost thirty weeks; you can't fake that to a doctor."

"Actually, we bribed the doctor to lie," said Lana. "I was pregnant for twelve months, more than enough time for Chloe to fake a preemie birth especially since you were so small. You were barely five pounds." She smiled wistfully. "A pound of it must've been hair; you had so much of it. Your eyes were already open and so light a blue the nurses thought you had something wrong with them. When I poked your tummy, you..."

Lana's hands trembled. She looked down then to Pete. His expression was unfathomable. "I couldn't tell anyone," she said more for his benefit than anyone else's. "It would've put Chloe and Conner in danger. Sometimes I even... I even thought I imagined it all. Chloe never sent pictures or wrote me. We agreed to absolutely no contact and we stuck to it until five months ago."

She stroked the digital album. "I got this from a Margaret Thoreaux supposedly from India. I was about to send it back but I saw this."

On the drive cover was the insignia of the _Smallville Torch_.

"I knew Chloe wouldn't send anything unless it was an emergency so I opened it right away. When I did, I... well, take a look." After switching the album on, Lana turned the screen around so that everyone could see. Twenty-four video thumbnails lay in six rows, each numbered and titled.

"Baa Baa Black Sheep," Lois read out. "Monday's Child. This Old Man."

"Those are nursery rhymes," said Pete.

Nodding, Lana clicked one of the files open. After a short period of blank space, Chloe came on screen and recited, "Monday's child is fair of face. Tuesday's child is full of grace. Wednesday's child is full of woe. Thursday's child has far to go. Friday's child is loving and giving. Saturday's child works hard for a living. But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day is bonny and blithe and good in every way."

"They're all like that," Lana said. She clicked on a file titled "How Does the Little Crocodile" which played in a similar format: Chloe sitting behind a desk, saying nursery rhyme.

"Code," said both Clark and Lois.

"Talk about masters of the obvious," said Conner. "Mom was always doing stuff like that. It was her hobby."

"She wouldn't send anything by code if it wasn't important," said Clark.

"Obviously, this is about her big story. That's the reason why she sent me to boarding school. If we decode it, we can give it to some hotshot reporter and totally blow the bad guys out of the water."

Grinning, Lois said, "Junior, you're looking at two of the hottest shots in the world."

Conner didn't look too impressed.

"Lana, do you know who the other genetic donor was?" Pete asked, abruptly changing the room's focus.

Shaking her head, Lana said, "To be honest, I didn't do any research after that. At first I was just too furious but later... I didn't want to alert anyone by digging for information."

"You mean you wanted to forget me," Conner said.

"Of course not!" Clark answered for Lana.

She straightened, meeting Conner's accusation straight on. "That's true. I did want to forget you. It was the best way I could protect you."

"Like. Hell." Conner's tone made the word fouler. "You wanted to forget that you had a freak for a kid."

"You're not a freak," said Clark. He used his Superman voice, demanding to be heard and believed. "You have special abilities that make you different but there's nothing freakish about it."

"What do you know about it?"

"Considerably more than you think." Plucking a pond rock from a flower arrangement on yet another side table, Clark placed it in his fist and squeezed. Dust puffed out from between his fingers. When he opened his hand again, blue-grey sand fell to the floor.

* * *

Physically and emotionally exhausted, they decided to order room service.

"I'll take the bill," Lana said as she lifted the phone. "What does everyone want?"

"One from every section," Conner said promptly. Pete started to laugh but, seeing Clark nod, his eyes widened.

"You never ate that much when we were at school," he said to Clark.

"I had food in my bag," said Clark, half-apologetically.

"Why? You could have just gotten more."

"I could have cleaned the entire cafeteria and still be hungry especially when the heat vision came. The sun helps but it's been so cloudy lately... Our grocery bill around Christmas is kind of ridiculous."

"Heat vision," Conner repeated. His eyes narrowed at Clark.

"I'll order two of everything for both of you then," said Lana. "What about everyone else?"

"What are the chances that they'd have thin-crust pepperoni here?" asked Lois.

Lana smiled. "This is the 41. They'll ship it in from Italy."

"Manhattan's just fine. Oh, but I guess Italy's closer, huh?" She nudged Clark's knee. "Tell me you wouldn't just about kill for Fatih's Heart-Clogger with the cheese in the crust and the garlic dipping sauce with a nice cold beer. I'm getting full just thinking about it." Sighing, she leaned back and stretched. "Speaking of which, we should call Perry for updates on our stories."

"Perry would hang up on us. He's a little forcefully fatherly and sometimes Lois wishes he was more the absentee type of... uh... I mean," Clark darkened when he realised the white elephant he'd unknowingly spotlighted.

Predictably, Conner's expression twisted but he didn't say anything. He just popped his headphones back on and pumped the volume up on his player. Clark dropped his head into his hands.

Pete grinned, punching his arm. "Same old Clark."

"I hope it's not hereditary," Clark muttered into his hands. "Conner shouldn't have to face the rest of his life a social pariah because his genes compel a magnetic attraction between his foot and his mouth."

"I don't know," said Lana. "At least everyone knows that what comes out of your mouth was unvarnished truth. I find it cute."

"I'm sure you do." Lois squeezed Clark's thigh in a blatantly sexual way. She smiled and if it was the tiniest bit feral, she chalked it up to being her normal Mad Dog Lane self. Clark went an even deeper red. The room's ambient temperature went up.

"S-So Chloe's code." Clark nodded at the DVD. "Any ideas on the code breaker?"

"Maybe it's in the will," said Pete. "Boutboul's still coming back in about five hours. I bet he comes in with the code book."

"So what are we supposed to do in the mean time?" asked Lana.

Turning the DVD player back on, Clark said, "Let's go through all the videos. We might still see a pattern in--" He stopped abruptly.

Lois knew that expression. Somewhere in the world was a disaster that only Superman could prevent. Still, Clark pressed his hands on his thighs, willing himself to stay put just this once. She nudged his leg.

"I have to go," he said softly, desperately. "I wouldn't but even the League is calling."

"So go already, Flyboy." Lois patted his arm. "We're not going anywhere."

"But Conner and the will--"

"--are going to be here when you come back. Earthquake or tornado?"

"Hurricane." Smiling apologetically at the company as he stood, Clark spun off his clothes, revealing his colours underneath. Before they could even register the change, he'd already flown out the balcony. Seconds later, a sonic boom filtered down to the cityscape.

Wide-eyed, Conner pulled his headphones off. "Wait a tic. _He's_ Superm--"

Lois lunged over to cover his mouth. "Ix-nay on the odename-cay." She removed her hand when he nodded.

"Did my mom know this?"

Shrugging, Lois said, "I don't know. But Chloe was pretty smart and she knew about Clark's abilities before all of us with the exception of Pete." Then, curiously, she asked, "What can you do?"

He ducked his head down, a very Clark-like mannerism that she had to hide a smile. "I break things. I can run fast. I don't get sick or hurt. But I can't do any of the cool stuff like heat vision or x-rays and stuff. I can't fly." He twisted his fingers around each other.

"Those things came slowly for him too," said Lois. "There was this one time he got sick-- which in and of itself was rare-- and he sneezed so hard he blew the barn door out into Acre 51."

"He grew up on a farm?" Interest lit Conner's eyes up for a moment then, blinking, he extinguished it. "That's totally gimped. People who grow up on farms are nuts. Totally explains the costume."

Stung on Clark's behalf, Lois demanded, "What's wrong with his uniform?"

"For one thing, there's nothing hiding his face. All his enemies could figure his identity out in, like, two seconds."

"He doesn't wear a mask because a mask implies lack of trust."

"Masks protect you _and_ they scare bad guys. Batman is totally a badass."

"Batman is a psycho with a death wish," Lois shot back. "He's got more issues than Lex Luthor and that's saying a lot."

"You know Batman?" Pete asked.

"By reputation only," Lois lied easily. "It's not hard to psychoanalyse him once you hear his press."

"We should work on the code until he comes back," said Lana. "The sooner we can figure this out, the sooner we can find out who did this to Chloe."

Pete nodded and sidled closer to Lana and the DVD player. Lois hung back, watching Conner.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm sorry you have to hear this, Junior, but I have to know: How did Chloe die?" She posed the question to the other adults in the room but they both shrugged.

"No one told us even when we begged," said Lana.

Lois darted a look at Conner again but, deciding it was too soon to push him, she turned her attention to the video file playing.

"She got knifed," Conner said. His outburst, incongruously in the middle of a lullabye, made the adults jump. "They made it look like a mugging and knifed her in the stomach. I had to ID her body." His expression wavered, jaw trembling childishly until he gritted his teeth.

Lois only had to think about it for a second before she flew to his side. She'd comforted Clark too many times not to understand that break in silent stoicism. Hell, she had solid experience in the emotion herself. Ignoring his frenzied "No, no, go away" and the grip that would surely leave bruises in a few hours, Lois wrapped Conner in an embrace. She squeezed him as hard as she could, tucking his head onto her shoulder and patting his back. He fought hard but he couldn't stop his sobs, painfully silent, slamming against her chest.

She didn't know when Lana and Pete left. Her concentration stayed with Conner. This was her nephew and, if Lana's story was true, her lover's son, making him family by choice and by blood. And someone had hurt him. That someone would get their asses handed to them and Lois wanted to do the carving herself.

Lana couldn't stand to see Conner break down. Quietly, she slipped away to the balcony. She heard Pete close the door and draw up a chair.

"Some night, huh?" he said when she turned to face him.

She nodded. Goosebumps rose on her skin. She rubbed her arms for warmth.

"You talked to the girls?" asked Pete.

"Yes. They miss you."

"I miss them."

"Helene lost a tooth."

"Already? Dang, where does the time go?"

Lana lifted her shoulders. "It slips by between meetings, red-eye flights and conference calls."

"And fashion shows, openings and business lunches," Pete shot back.

Lana rubbed her forehead. "Do we have to fight tonight, too?"

"I just asked about the girls. You're the one who--" Pete broke off.

"Sorry. We're not here for that." She attempted a smile but it wobbled off when he didn't return it.

Lana stared out into the landscaped gardens. The hazy sunset turned buildings and trees into purple silhouettes that loomed protectively over the skittering pedestrians.

"I should be in there," Lana said. "I should be the one comforting him."

"Lois is doing a fine job," said Pete.

"Lois isn't his mother," snapped Lana. She unclenched her fists. "What if he's right?" Pete looked at her in askance so she elaborated. "What if I actually didn't want him because he has powers?"

"That's not true."

"It might be! Pete, metahumans scare me. Do you remember what it was like growing up in Smallville?"

"It's not something that you forget."

Closing her eyes, Lana exhaled deeply. "Every week, someone else developed powers or disappeared or died. Every time someone missed class, people wondered if they were missing because they'd been eaten by a fat-sucking cheerleader or turned into a human torch. So many people's lives turned upside-down because of kryptonite."

"Not every meta is evil," said Pete.

"I know that," Lana said. "I know that Superman and the rest of the League are good. The sun gives us life but I don't want to be near it. What if subconsciously, I forgot about Conner because..."

Pete rested his hands on her shoulders. His breath ruffled her hair. "You didn't. I wouldn't fall in love with a woman that frightened, that selfish."

Lana savoured his warmth for a moment. Then: "But you aren't in love with me any more, are you?"

Pete's hands dropped away.


	3. Chapter 3

Still spattered in mud with salt caking his hair, Clark returned to London in time to catch the last of the pizza and a dish of coq au vin. Lois waved him over with a bottle of beer.

"Don't worry, we saved you one of the pizzas," she said.

"We've also determined that Chloe should never go into acting," said Pete.

"Hold that thought; I have to change." Clark zoomed to his room for his discarded clothes and ducked into one of the bathrooms. Cleaning up only took five seconds; he could wash the costume later. For now, he stuffed it into a side pocket in his luggage.

"You were saying about the videos?" he said as he sat down beside Lois.

"We can't see a pattern so far in terms of watching the videos in numerical order," said Lois. "We've tried putting them in alphabetical order and chronological in terms of dates created but there's nothing obvious."

"We think the code is probably in the actual words used in the rhymes," said Lana. "But without a code breaker, we don't know what to look for."

Clark turned to Conner. "Did your mom--" he didn't quite trip over the word-- "have a favourite type of cipher?"

The skin between Conner's eyebrows wrinkled. "We did a lot of Vigenère tables. They're a sort of super Caesar cipher but it needs a keyword."

Pete rubbed his eyes. "Boutboul's coming in half an hour. I think we should hear what he has to say then get some sleep. If nothing else, something might click in the morning."

Both Lois and Conner shook their heads violently. "We have to solve this as soon as possible," said Lois. "What if the bad guy's getting away as we speak?"

"If it was urgent, she wouldn't have coded it so well," said Clark.

"Let's vote on it," said Lana. "Everyone for leaving it alone until morning, raise your hands." Clark and Pete lifted their arms. "People for working on it all night." Lois and Conner's hands went up. "Okay. Then as the tie breaker, I say we wait to see what Mr. Boutboul says. I'll make up my mind then."

Lois leaned back on the couch, stretching her arms over her head. "Great, meanwhile, let's stare at each other and make awkward small talk."

"Lois," Clark admonished.

"Clark," she scolded back.

They argued silently for a few seconds before Lois threw her hands up. "Fine, TV it is then."

Clark stood up with her. "I should shower. Excuse me."

Conner stared after them "Is telepathy a superpower?"

"No," said Lois.

"Then how the hell did you two just fight without actually talking?"

"That's more of a Kent power. Hang around them long enough and you'll get it, too."

"Lois, you never mentioned how you and Clark came to work together," said Lana. "Were you classmates at Met U?"

Shaking her head, Lois said, "No, Clark never made it to Met U until his final year. He sort of... saw the world and took distance ed courses. He sold a lot of articles while he worked on his second job. I think he was planning to do that forever."

"What changed his mind?" asked Pete.

Lois weighed possible answers. "Various factors came into play but you'll have to ask him for details. I'm sure there are articles out there about it; just do a search on the web."

"Of course, but we do have Superman's favourite journalist here," said Lana.

"Superman gives equal interview opportunities to all journalists not just the_Planet_," Lois shot back. "It's not my fault other papers don't take advantage of his availability."

Pete held his hands up. "It's just an observation, not an accusation. If you can't talk about it, just say so. I think we've established that we're all well-versed in keeping secrets."

Deflating a bit, Lois said, "I'm just so used to lying about it that telling the truth feels wrong."

"I thought Superman never lied," said Conner archly.

"He doesn't. That's my job."

"I came back because of the Zoners," Clark said as he re-entered the common room.

"Dude! Quickest shower ever," Conner noted.

"Years of practice with finicky plumbing. That is, on good days when Lois hasn't taken all the hot water."

"It's not my fault you're freakishly tall," said Lois. "Word to the wise, Junior. You might want to skip your Wheaties unless you want to be the size of a midget giraffe like this guy over here."

"You're just sore because my name came before yours in our last article, Lane."

"The score's still seventy-three to seventy in my favour, Smallville."

"That's not saying a lot considering you had a year's head start."

"Maybe if you didn't drop out after first year, you wouldn't be behind."

By now, Lois and Clark were nose to nose, grinning maniacally. Sexual tension thickened the air to the point where even Conner looked uncomfortable.

"Clark, you were saying about the Zoners?" Lana asked, attempting to steer the conversation back on track.

He tore his attention away from Lois with visible effort. "Pete, you'd moved away by then but I think Chloe must've told you about the criminals that I released from the Phantom Zone."

"By accident," both Lois and Lana added. "Don't you dare do the sheepish guilt thing again," Lois continued. "One metaphorical headline about Atlas and he really thinks that the whole world is in his hands."

Turning to Pete, Clark said, "I spent two years chasing Zoners around the world but I inevitably found myself back in Metropolis. Ollie and the others had been doing their... extracurricular activities for a while then and I knew I needed their help. They agreed to help on the condition that I do research for them in return especially about a certain entrepreneurial shark concentrated in the area."

Lois jumped in the narrative. "I kind of replaced Chloe as his researcher until I told him that I had a life."

Clark snorted.

"Then, he also needed a place to stay since he barely bothered to go back to the farm so I lent him the couch."

"She wasn't trained well enough to know that couches go to the owner and beds to the guest."

"He spent so much time in the Planet's bullpen that Perry just gave him a desk. Next thing I know, he's sitting right across from me, sharing my byline."

"The rest is history," ended Lana.

* * *

Mist coated everything in a fine sheen of cold water the morning of Chloe's funeral. As per her instructions, she wanted the wake and the funeral in one day so, hard as it was to believe, this would all be over in five hours. Lana arranged everything. Clark shouldn't have been surprised; she'd been managing people since sophomore year.

For a virtual nomad, Chloe amassed a lot of friends. Field journalists were a tight bunch, competitive as hell when there was a story but bonded by experiences that no one, not even other journalists, could understand. They filed in, laughing a little too loudly and drinking a little too much. The war journalists left before the actual burial; they always did.

The kids -- Clark felt ancient referring to them like that -- mostly stayed in the main waiting area, congregated around the small refreshment and snack table. They seemed to be trying to cheer Conner up, their voices subdued but with an occasional tremulous smile or a friendly punch to the arm.

Lois, seeing the direction of his gaze, said, "He might've gotten his looks from you but he got his social skills from Lana by osmosis."

Clark arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Conner's got three girls hanging off of his arms and another one looking for a strategic yet socially acceptable place to snuggle."

"He's young; he'll learn to value quality over quantity." Turning back around to face front, Clark stretched an arm across her shoulders. "How much longer until you're ready to go up there?"

Lois shook her head stiffly. "Five minutes after never. There's something intrinsically wrong with this entire scenario. Did you know wakes were traditionally a preventative measure against live burials? It was apparently quite common before ECG machines and licensed professionals could distinguish between dead and alcoholic coma. In light of modern technology, I think we should do away with the practice altogether. It's kind of ghoulish, don't you think?"

Rubbing her shoulder lightly, Clark said, "I can't believe she's gone either."

A commotion at the refreshment table drew their attention once more. One of Conner's friends appeared to have lost control of her kneecaps. She giggled as she fell into Conner's arms, gazing up at him fatuously. Conner's other friends roared in laughter, garnering glares from the adults.

"I'll see what's going on," Clark said, standing up.

Conner's irritation changed focus from the girl to Clark he approached.

"I can't believe that's your dad," said one of Conner's male friends, his voice a touch too loud. "He's an utter swot."

Clark adjusted his glasses. "Would you and your friends like to go outside for a while?" he asked in his Metropolis-pitched voice.

"We'll be fine," said Conner. He hitched his floppy kneed friend higher in his arms.

"O-Okay but keep it down, please?"

The stutter set s few of the teenagers into convulsions of laughter. Conner blushed but didn't say anything. "I can handle this. Believe it or not, I survived fine before you came."

It was easy to look hurt. Clark hunched his shoulders and studied his shoes. "It's not for me, really, I mean, I know it's hardly appropriate and I'm not exactly hip and happening or anything much and whatever swotty is I-I suppose that's me but I guess I just assumed you wouldn't want to make a ruckus at your mom's, uh, you know." He peered up at Conner over his glasses.

The boy's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah. We're out of here."

Half-carrying the most inebriated of his friends, Conner led the others to the door. Clark fiddled with his glasses, and sighed. That wasn't what he wanted to say but there were too many people here and he didn't want to risk Conner's temper getting the best of his mouth.

The kids barely reached the entrance when Conner yelled out. The girl in his arms completely lost consciousness, dropping to the floor. Conner went down with her, his hand under her head for protection. Clark ran to his side, his long legs getting him there in seconds even without using superspeed.

The girl convulsed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

Clark caught the eye of a gaping adult. "Call 999!" Then to Conner: "Keep her head still. How much did she have to drink?"

"One cup of punch." At Clark's raised eyebrows, Conner swore. "I wouldn't lie about that. Not now! We all had one or two cups and then everyone started acting weird."

"How do you feel?" Clark asked.

Conner shook his head. "I, uh, only had a sip. I don't like kiwi."

Lois kneeled beside them, Lana and Pete at her heels. "The ambulance is on its way. What's up?"

"Someone must've put something in the punch."

"Yeah, I doubt this was a mass allergic reaction to kiwi spritzer. Oh crap, incoming!"

One of the boys slumped against the wall, slid to the ground and vomited all over himself.

To Clark's surprise, Lana immediately took charge. "If I could have everyone's attention: apparently, someone saw the surname Sullivan, assumed this was an Irish wake and upended a gallon of whisky in the punchbowl. It would be best if you throw your drinks and stick to unopened bottles or cans at least until after three o' clock."

The nervous guests chuckled, their tension alleviated.

"Leave it to Chloe to have a mystery even in her own funeral," Pete said, his smile brittle.

Clark tried to smile as well but couldn't quite manage it.

"I'll guard the punchbowl to make sure the police can sample it," said Lois. "Junior, mind helping me out?"

"My friends--" Conner said.

"Pete and Clark have them. Let's go make sure no one else gets sick."

Surprisingly, Conner stuck to Lois' side even during the trip to the hospital. Only when Clark suggested calling the kids' parents did he head out of the waiting area.

"Where are you going?" Clark asked, tripping on a shoelace as he caught up.

"To call Gemma's parents," said Conner. "And everyone else's. I have their numbers on my cell and... did you think I was going to run?"

Clark blinked at the sudden change of tone from guilt to anger in no time flat. "I thought nothing of the sort. Maybe you'd like me to speak with them. Parents tend to take news like this better from other adults."

"They're _my_ friends, my responsibility."

"That's very noble of you. All the more reason why I should do it." Clark held his hand out for the cell phone. "Stand right beside me if you want; you'll be able to hear the conversation that way."

The first phone call went to the parents of the girl who went into convulsions, Gemma. Gemma's mother went into a spate of German vitriol so heated that Clark winced. Even his deepest contacts in the East European mobs didn't use language like that. Conner twisted a corner of his shirt around his thumb, tight enough to rip.

"She's going to kill me," he said mournfully.

Clark covered the mike. "Aren't you more afraid of her mom?"

"Gemma can swear in English _and_ German. It sounds worse when she mixes it."

After giving Gemma's father the details as he knew them and assuring him of his daughter's safety, Clark hung up. "Is she your girlfriend?"

Conner tamed the alarmed look on his face. "No way. She's high maintenance. We just hang. Besides, I'm too young to be tied down to one girl."

It was really difficult not to roll his eyes but Clark managed. By the sixth and final phone call, Lois joined them outside.

"The doctors have results back from the your friends' blood test," she said, crossing her arms. "There was enough rohypnol in that one girl's system to flatten a whole cheerleading squad. Are there cheerleaders in England?"

"Rohypnol ?" Conner repeated.

Clark pushed his glasses up. "Also known as roofie or date-rape drug. It's the reason why clubs in most countries have mandatory seals on the drinks they sell. There was a huge spate of druggings in ten to twenty years ago for robberies and rapes."

"You guys were at the food most of the time. Did you see anyone hamper with the punchbowl?" Lois asked Conner.

"You don't think my friends and me did it?" Conner asked bitterly.

Lois lifted a hand to count off her reasoning. "Now you could be horrified that you over-dosed the bowl but why would everyone else drink it? You could be getting high but roofies are expensive since the bans and there are easier, cheaper ways to trip out. Also, you've probably discovered that you can't get poisoned unless the toxin's measured in barrels but you wouldn't purposefully OD your friends. But mostly I believe you because you're Chloe's kid and I highly doubt that she'd raise someone who'd do something like this."

"We should alert the police. They'll be able to-- What's wrong with calling the police, Conner?" Clark asked, seeing panic flit across Conner's face.

"Nothing," Conner quickly replied. "I... might have sort of helped myself to some crisps and things once. But _only_ once I swear. One day, I mean. It might not have been one store."

"And you got caught?"

"One of my friends did and I was trying to help him get away." He twisted the undamaged corner of his shirt around his thumb, peeking up at Clark and Lois through his bangs.

A pang of regret shot through Clark's chest but before he said anything, Lois punched his arm. "Ease up, you two. You're acting like he invented shoplifting."

"That's not the point," said Clark. "Conner's not like other teenagers. He has a responsibility towards his powers and the attitude he presents to--"

"Just because you were born the perfect boy scout, it doesn't mean everyone can live up to it." Lois rubbed the exact spot she'd punched. "Conner's sorry for doing that and he'll never do it again, right?"

Conner shook his head, paused, then nodded just as frantically.

"Besides, the issue here is finding the person who slipped ten mickeys in the punch. I don't care how new you are to this game but no one puts that much rohypnol in a drink. Not unless you were planning to--" Graphically, Lois drew a line across her throat.

"No way." Conner's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. "Why? There's no reason to hurt my friends."

"Not your friends," said Clark with dawning realisation. "You. Whoever went after Chloe and Boutboul must think you have information, too."

"What makes you think that something's happened to Mr. Boutboul?"

"I wasn't sure until now," Clark admitted. "Think about it: he's followed Chloe's instructions to the letter until last night. We can't get his cell phone and his office in Vienna says that he's scheduled to be here until tomorrow. He didn't strike me as the type of person who'd skip out on a job."

"Maybe he saw the information that Chloe had for us and decided to reap the rewards himself," said Lois.

"Call it a gut instinct."

"Does your gut instinct say that Boutboul's in trouble or that he's an honest guy?"

Clark looked her in the eyes. "He's in great danger."

Lois nodded decisively. "We'll ask the police for a missing persons report and recent attacks on anyone of Boutboul's description. We should also alert the kids' parents about the attack."

"Why?" asked Conner. "I mean, this is just a guess, an instinct. You'll get them worried and angry possibly for no reason."

"Take note, Junior." Lois pointed at Clark, who tugged sheepishly on his tie. "The boy scout here believes in the best case scenario save for one or two extraordinarily evil people. The second he looks you in the eye and says something's wrong, you believe him."

* * *

Pete met the trio back in the waiting room. He smiled to himself; Clark, Lois and Conner looked like a family unit with Conner being the spitting image of Clark but by coincidence or not, Conner had some of Lois' mannerisms in the tilt of his chin and the directness of his gaze.

"They've got the girl stabilised," Pete told them. "The rest of your friends are staying under observation but their stomachs have been pumped. Outside of massive hangovers, the doctors think they'll be fine."

"We think Conner was the real target," said Clark. "I'm going to see if we can get a safe-house until we solve the encryption."

"What about Boutboul?" asked Pete.

"That's part of what has us suspicious." Lois briefly recounted their theory. "It might be a good idea for you two to come to the safe-house, too. If they've gotten anything out of Boutboul, they'll know that you're in the will."

Pete shook his head. "We've left the girls alone too long. If we're hiding out, I want them with us."

"I was going to suggest that or bodyguards," said Clark. "How's security in your place?"

"Pretty standard, I guess. Alarm system, gated community. I can request more if you think it's necessary."

"While I hope Lois' paranoia's just rubbed off on me, I think it's better to be paranoid than sorry. Call for a secure escort to the embassy, then clear a safe flight to Paris."

"You can just..." Conner mimed a flying plane.

Nodding imperceptibly, Clark said, "I don't want to tip anyone off. I'll have people from my second job watching it all but we have to leave a paper trail for the story and for safety concerns."

"What could be safer than you?"

"Knowing secrets is dangerous," said Pete. "If anyone even thought that... outside help had a personal interest in our safety, they'd start asking why or using us to get to them."

Clark's feelings were as easy to read as ever. "I'm sorry you had to experience that first hand."

"Clark, it was ages ago."

"That doesn't keep it from being awful. There were so many times in school when you could have died--"

"But I didn't." Pete clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You've got to stop beating yourself up about things that you can't control."

"I've tried to tell him that but he's got a rock hard head." Lois rapped her knuckles on Clark's temple.

Lana slipped into the conversation. "I just heard from an inspector sergeant. They found a car matching Mr. Boutboul's rental abandoned in Bristol. That's seven hours' drive north at least. Unfortunately, the license plates were stripped."

"How do they know it's his?" asked Pete.

"They left the registration in the glove compartment." She bit her lower lip, worried but contemplative.

"Sloppy," said Lois.

"Or they just wanted to stall the investigation long enough to escape but still leave enough evidence to act as a warning," Clark said.

"That's gruesome, cynical and sounds right."

"Okay, Lana and I can handle things here," said Pete. "You two go with Conner and pack. We'll keep in touch every hour."

"I'm going back to the hotel room," said Lois. "I want to make sure that everything there is still non-lethal."

Clark nodded as Lois quickly reached up to kiss his cheek. He laid a hand on Pete's shoulder. "Stay safe."

"Always, buddy."

"I should call home and alert security," Lana said as soon as Lois, Clark and Conner left the building. "I put you down as the main contact for the police."

"That's good. The embassy should offer a lot of legal protection, too." Pete clicked around his PDA. "I should start making inquiries and clearing the way for the legalities. We're going to need a thick paper trail for this if it gets too serious."

"Conner, where do you keep all your things?" asked Clark.

"I have some stuff in my school," said Conner slowly.

"We're going there right now to collect them then swinging by the London condo to get Chloe's files."

"We?"

Clark nodded grimly. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until we get to the bottom of this."

London real estate rivalled Manhattan so Clark wasn't surprised when, upon arriving at his mom's condo, Conner unlocked the door to a mere five hundred square foot space. The building was actually in London proper, not an outlying suburb and the fact that Chloe actually owned it was a testament to her success as a writer.

Clark was sure it wasn't supposed to look like a train-wreck though. Furniture had been smashed to bits, upholstery slashed and cupboard contents thrown to the floor. Two mattresses leaned limply against a wall, its guts hanging out. House plants lay limp in piles of potshards and soil. Nothing was left whole.

Conner dropped his stuffed sports bag in the middle of the entrance. "What the hell?"

Clark placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't touch anything yet."

"They... our place." Conner clutched handfuls of hair. "Who did this... oh, shit, Mom's laptop."

He zipped to the splinters that used to be an office desk. Pieces of computer peripherals lay filled the spaces between the wood shards. Wilted vegetables and mashed fruit stained the walls and furniture. Clark picked his way through the tiny kitchen. They didn't leave a single plate whole. Broken bottles littered the floor, sauces mixing in a fly-infested soup. Meat lay in watery puddles on the counter.

"Mom's laptop is gone," said Conner.

"When were you last here?" asked Clark.

"Yesterday when Mr. Boutboul picked me up. I just had to... I didn't want to come straight from school. Everything was fine."

"That gave them at least twenty-four hours." Clark picked up a dented pan. "Did your mom keep backups?"

"She kept a stack of discs and drives on the table but they're gone, too."

Sighing, Clark said, "Take whatever you need; I'll request someone to secure the rest of the items. Are you absolutely sure that your mom didn't keep a hidden backup anywhere? Maybe she had a container where she kept a lot of important things."

Conner started to shake his head then paused, a reflective expression lined his face. "It's kind of stupid but me and Mom had this joke. I had a major book report due way back when and I couldn't find it. We looked all over the place and she was getting ready to call the school and fight for an extension or something. Then I opened the fridge and there it was. I must've gone to grab milk and left it there by accident. Ever since then, when either one of us lost anything, we'd go 'Did you check the fridge?'"

The tiniest of smiles touched Conner's lips. For a moment, Clark saw the child inside the gangly limbs and square jaw. When the smile disappeared, he physically felt its loss in the pit of his stomach.

"Like I said, it's kind of dumb," said Conner.

"No, it's not." Clark turned to the narrow fridge and opened it. What little food that remained were scattered on the shelves.

"This is so not on," said Conner. "They didn't have to wreck things just to look for Mom's piece."

"Some people enjoy destruction for destruction's sake," said Clark.

"Why?"

Clark stopped his search to smile. "I'm so glad you have to ask that."

Returning his attention to the fridge, Clark continued his search using his x-ray vision. Between the wall and the side of the fridge was a small rectangular piece of plastic.

"Pull the fridge out for me," said Clark.

A flash of excitement coloured Conner's expression before he schooled it back to blankness. Gripping the sides firmly enough to press dents into the sidings, he grunted and heaved the fridge outward. The fridge moved without a creak. A large strip of silver tape appeared to be holding a corner of the backframe to the main covering box.

Clark knelt to rip the tape off. The flash drive fell into his palm. "Good job. Now let's--"

He heard the gun before seeing the gunman. Clark dove away at the last possible moment, dragging Conner down with him.

"Holy shit!" Conner crab-walked away, head swinging from side to side in search for their attacker.

"Move, move, move!" Clark could find anyone either but the bullets kept coming. He had toe the line between superspeed and "human" luck as he pulled Conner behind the overturned sofa.

"Holy shit, he's still here!" Conner's expression turned alarmingly angry. "The son of a bitch, I'm gonna--"

Clamping a hand on the boy's shoulder, Clark said, "Stay down." He scanned through the sofa, focusing on several levels until he spotted a skeleton standing in plain view. He went into shallow focus; the skeleton disappeared from the apparently empty condo. With a little concentration, he saw the faint outline of the intruder's body.

"She blends into the background," he whispered into Conner's ear. "Twelve o' clock."

Before he could relate a plan, Conner shoved the sofa away, hard. The intruder let out a groan, her body fleshed out as she doubled over. Moving so fast only Clark could follow, the boy levelled a dozen punches into the intruder's midsection. His teeth were clenched, his eyes wild.

"Disarm her!" Clark shouted but Conner was too lost in his revenge.

The intruder dropped suddenly to the ground. As the bewildered Conner paused, she pulled out another firearm and shot it, point-blank, into Conner's knee cap.

"Ow!" Conner's leg buckled but, thankfully, there was no blood.

The intruder gawked for a second then lifted both guns. Clark had no doubt that she would empty them into Conner. The boy was strong but young; two magazines from a Glock would eventually penetrate his forcefield. Casting around for a diversion, Clark found a dented toaster. He went long, his body still remembering how to make that perfect football throw.

The toaster smacked into her head. The intruder dropped like a rock. Conner breathed deep, recovering. Then he stood over the unconscious woman, an ugly look in his eyes.

"I had her," he said.

Clark's lips flattened. "You exposed your power unnecessarily. I had a plan that would have gotten us out of here without a fight."

"I wanted to fight her! Look what she did to my house!"

"Even so, you do not use your powers like that. You're ten times stronger than she is. She could have internal injuries, broken bones--" Clark leaned over the woman, x-raying for damage.

"She deserves it."

Clark looked up at Conner. He was young, his mother had been ripped from his life and his home destroyed. On top of all of that, he'd been given revelations about his origins that rivalled Clark's. He was understandably angry. But he was so powerful...

God, was this what his father went through every day?

Conner glowered but focussed it at a spot on the wall. "I guess you never flip out."

They didn't have time for this. Once they were in the safe-house, a safe place to talk and train, Clark would be more than happy to extend this conversation.

"Let's go," he said. "I'll contact the authorities about this but we need to leave in case she came with back-ups."

He spun into his colours-- there was no way Clark Kent would be able to carry anything bigger than a cocker spaniel-- slung the woman over his shoulder and held Conner to his side. Then he zipped away to find a safe place to contact the Justice League.


	4. Chapter 4

Considering the situations that he'd been party to, Pete had little contact with the Justice League. When he did meet them, it was for ceremonial purposes only with little more than handshakes. Meeting them as an assignment, naturally, roused a greater response.

The three JL members arrived via their hotel room window. The first wore a red flack vest and half his weight in weapons. He immediately scanned the room with an intimidating gun-like tool. Only Lois' signal kept both Pete and Lana from attacking. A woman dressed in skin-tight black and fishnet stockings entered next, tumbling and flipping until she reached the door. The last one took forever to roll from his landing crouch and when he finally stood straight, he seemed taller than even Clark. Green Kevlar covered his head and torso. The Green Arrow. The unspoken leader of the JL himself had come.

"Consul Ross, Mrs. Ross. And Ms. Lane." His voice was deep and rough. "We have your safe-house ready."

"You're early," said Lois.

"We were in the neighbourhood." Green Arrow. He nodded to his teammates. "This is Arsenal and that's Black Canary."

Another set of handshakes came around.

"I had the pleasure of attending one of your presentations during the Metahuman Summit three years ago," the Black Canary told Pete. "I found it very thorough and fair in light of current events."

Pete's heated cheeks had less to do with Black Canary's uniform and more to do with the authenticity in her voice. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"She didn't just enjoy it," said Arsenal. "She made us all watch a vid of the lecture and come up with League policy amendments to reflect your theories."

"Successfully, I might add," said the Black Canary.

"What kind of changes?" asked Lana.

"The mentorship program for metapowered children for one. It was kind of implicitly there but I wanted it to be in black and white."

Now Pete couldn't stop grinning. "Well, I really don't know what to say to that other than thank you."

Green Arrow cleared his throat. "Now that we're all finished patting each other on the back, I believe we have bodies to secure. I'd like to propose a slight change in plans, however, Consul and Mrs. Ross."

Arching his eyebrows, Pete asked, "What kind of change?"

"It's with regards to your daughters," said Green Arrow. "I know you'd prefer to have them close but experience has taught us that unless the children are the main targets, it's safer to keep them in a separate hidden location--"

Lana was already shaking her head.

"-- where another team can concentrate purely on protecting the children."

"No," said Lana. "I want my girls with me."

"Mrs. Ross, I understand your reticence but trust me, it really is safer this way."

"Lana, you can trust them," said Lois.

Her arms crossed, Lana locked eyes with Pete. He released a puff of air through his teeth, jamming his hands into his pockets. Her eyes went wide. "Pete, you can't agree with this!"

"They _are_ the Justice League," Pete said, wavering between the two sides. "Who'll be assigned with our girls?"

Arsenal lifted his hand. "I've got a kid myself. I'll take your girls to the same place where mine stays after school. They'll get security bracelets with tracking and certain security measures. I promise, my partners and I won't let anything happen to them."

Lips pursed, Lana stared Arsenal in the eye. "Has your child ever been kidnapped from this safe-house?"

Arsenal squirmed. "I can't answer that for my family's safety."

"That's a no comment."

Pete placed a hand on her arm. "Lana, please."

"I'm just making sure," Lana said.

"It's okay," said Arsenal. "I'd totally be the same way if it was my kid. It's standard procedure to separate targets though. If it wasn't for Superman's explicit instructions, your five would be in separate safe-houses, too."

In the end, Lana caved. Green Arrow, Black Canary and Arsenal whisked the three of them away through the fire escape to a waiting helicopter where they were blindfolded them before take-off. Less than fifteen minutes later, Pete felt himself led to a car which then drove for an indeterminate amount of time before he was led out again. This time, he recognised the roar of jet engines.

"I'm getting travel sick with all this obfuscation," said Lois as she buckled in.

"It's for your own protection," said Green Arrow. "Plausible deniability. But you can remove your blindfolds now. The plane cabin has no windows."

"Joy. Is Canary driving?"

A smile touched Green Arrow's mouth, softening the whiskered angles of his jaw. "You don't trust my piloting skills, Lois?"

"Not any further than I can throw your jet, Sherwood."

"Granted, it's not as natural as your usual mode of travel but the jet's temperature controlled and you can have an in-flight movie."

From the cockpit came Black Canary's voice. "Are you flirting with Lois again, GA? May I remind you that the Boy Scout can throw you into a wall with a bat of his lovely, long lashes."

"I love baiting him," Green Arrow said, completely unapologetic. "It helps straighten out his spit-curl. Hey, hold on. Since when have you noticed his eyelashes?"

"We had a poll. He won for best eyes, best tush and most likely to impress your mother."

"What did I win?"

"Most likely to regret current facial hair and runner-up for Over-Compensators Anonymous."

Growling, Green Arrow stalked into the cockpit.

"Ignore them," Arsenal told Pete and Lana. "They have unresolved sexual tension."

"Do not," Black Canary and Green Arrow yelled back.

Lois went off into paroxysms of laughter. Pete relaxed into the flight; a glance at Lana told him that she wasn't visibly angry at least. Maybe seeing the girls, no matter how briefly, would calm her down.

* * *

After half an hour in the air, Green Arrow reported that they would be meeting with another Justice League jet. Her daughters, Helene and Annabelle, were on that second jet and they'd all have a few hours together before they left again for their respective safe-houses.

Lana strapped into her chair. A roar outside announced the arrival of the second jet soon followed by a metallic clank of the coupling mechanism. Green Arrow opened the hatch. He'd told them that air-to-air transfers were perfectly safe and secure but Lana couldn't help worrying. They weren't transferring inanimate objects, after all; her baby girls could fall, get frightened, squirm enough to slip through the strongest hold--

"Mama! Daddy! Mama! Daddy!" Her two girls, Helene still in her uniform, reached out for them. Their guardians seemed to have a good hold on them though, smiles visible from under their hoods.

"Hang on, princess," said one of the Leaguers, a tall, dark man with a two lightning bolts arcing down his jacket. "Remember what I said about proper missions?"

Amazingly, Helene, who had turned wheedling into an art form, nodded and held stiff until the hatch closed. Lana had her belts snapped off before the Leaguers even put the girls down. Pete was right beside her.

"Mama, nous sommes rided on a plane just only me et Belle et aussi j'n'pleur pas even Bella pleur lots1)," Helene proudly declared in her usual mix of English and French.

Annabelle toddled into Pete's arms, tucked her head under his chin and sighed. Her thumb went into her mouth but Lana didn't have the heart to reprimand her. "Thank you for taking care of them," she said to the Leaguers.

"Mrs. Ross, Consul Ross, meet Black Lightning and Manhunter." Green Arrow clapped a hand on their shoulders. "They're experts in witness protection and parents themselves. They'll be with Arsenal in your daughters' safe-house."

"I was thinking of bringing my own kid over once in a while for playdates," said the silver-masked woman called Manhunter.

It took Lana's brain a while to compute the idea of a playdate with superheroes' kids in a highly armed safe-house. The scenario was a special type of ridiculous. "If you need anything or have any questions, just--

"Call me first and I'll pass it on," Green Arrow interrupted. To his teammates, he said, "Do your dodging; we'll meet up again in an hour."

"Just an hour?" Pete asked plaintively.

Green Arrow nodded but Lana could tell he felt badly about it. "The longer you're all together, the easier a target we'll be. As you can see, the cabin's fully equipped; feel free to use anything. Hey, Lois, want to see what the jet can do?"

"Sure thing." Lois unbuckled herself and quickly retreated to the cockpit with Green Arrow. Lana appreciated the thought; even without sinister goings-on, the four of them hardly had time together as a family.

She turned to Pete. Annabelle was already asleep in his arms. He'd always been able to calm them the best.

"Mama, pourquoi you have to go encore?(2)" asked Helene.

"Well, remember my friend who passed away?" At her daughter's nod, Lana continued, "She was a writer and she wrote something that upset some bad people so they're protecting all of us until--"

"The Justice League takes care of everything," Pete interrupted. "You're going to a special secret hide-out just like a superhero. Black Lightning, Arsenal and Manhunter said they have kids too so you'll have playmates. I bet they can teach you all sorts of cool things."

Helene filled them in with minutiae of her days in pre-school, her nannies (transgressions and indulgences) and the many varied ways in which Annabelle continued to make much too much noise. On her part, Bella belied her elder's words by sitting quietly first in Pete's arms then in Lana's. The hour was over much too soon.

Lana squeezed Annabelle extra tight, breathing in that lovely baby-smell that still lingered in her plump toddler's body. Manhunter gave her an understanding smile even as she held a hand out for Annabelle.

"They'll have to drop a nuclear bomb to breach even the first wall of the safe-house," she promised Lana.

She blinked her tears back. Bella empathised heavily with adults; if Lana started crying, she'd cry as well, then Helene might join in and she'd never be able to let them go. "Annabelle hates peas and she can't sleep if there's even a sliver of light in her room. Also, don't let Helene take advantage of you; she's got the best pity-me look especially when it comes to baths. They... they usually like having something to read before bedtime so I'm pretty sure you'll be sick of Skippy John Jones by the end of all of this."

Pete kissed Helene once, twice, three, four and ten times on her cheeks, his lashes barely holding his tears in check. "Soyez obéissants pendant notre absence?(3)"

Helene nodded solemnly. "Oui, Daddy.(4)"

"That's my girl." He hugged her again and kissed both cheeks. "I love you, baby."

"Love you, Daddy. Love you, Mama."

"I love you, sweetie," Lana said as joined their embrace. Annabelle stirred long enough to pat Lana's cheek then they were gone, tucked away with the three Leaguers out the hatch and into the other plane.

Silently, Lana belted back into her seat.

"You shouldn't have told Helene about bad guys," said Pete. "You scared her."

"I wasn't about to lie to her," Lana said. "I didn't give her any details that would give her nightmares."

"It's not about the details, it's about giving them the responsibility for that knowledge. They're too young to be worrying about bad men finding their parents and hiding under protective custody."

"Spinning a yarn about secret hide-outs isn't going to make things easier."

Pete clenched his eyes closed. "Sometimes, honesty isn't the best policy, Lana."

"Forgive me for not wanting to build a truthful foundation with my children."

"You're always twisting this argument into this unreal dichotomy."

"And you always turning me into the bad guy! I _can_ differentiate between adult and child appropriate information, you know."

Lois walked in and immediately translated their body language. Not that it was difficult. "Or, I can come back later when the tension doesn't threaten to cut me to shreds."

"No, please, come in, Lois," said Lana. "We were just worrying about the girls."

"They're cute. Really smart and, uh, pinafore-y. I predict a cuteness overload in the little pink safe-house," said Lois. As an attempt to lighten the mood, it failed miserably but Lana appreciated the gesture. "Canary says we'll be landing within the hour. Conner and Clark will meet us there."

"Did he say how long we'll be staying at the safe-house?" Pete asked.

Lois shook her head. Lana envied her self-possession. Her life with Clark must be full of danger; this was probably routine by now. Smallville's meteor mutants flashed through her memories. As much as she loved Clark once upon a time, Lana didn't envy Lois' life one bit.

* * *

Eyebrows arched, Lois took stock of their home away from home for the next few weeks. "I have to hand it to you, GA; you shack up your clients in style."

"I try to make the stay comfortable," said Green Arrow.

Although obviously old, the three bedroom apartment was well furnished. Antiques and rugs covered up the worse of the cracked plaster and worn floorboards. The kitchen had a narrow fridge common to most European homes and an electric stove. The few windows faced brick walls. Each room had a double bed and a chest of drawers. The sole bathroom had a mosaic floor, a shower and a damn fine bathtub along with the usual toileting amenities.

Green Arrow pointed out the security mechanisms. "We have the usual alarms on every exit and IR sensors that patch right to our HQ. There are also sensors on the roof, the basement, the fire escape and all five floors on this building. The corridors are all monitored. You have a few neighbours but all the residents have been here for at least three years." He took three plastic loops from a belt pouch. "These are tracking bracelets. After I weld them on you all, only Cyborg can unlock them."

"What if someone cuts them off?" asked Pete.

"They'll have an unfortunate surprise." There was no humour in the Green Arrow's smile.

It wasn't difficult to use his codename when he was in his colours. The voice-changer helped but, like Clark, his demeanour changed when he was in character. There was a reckless arrogance in the Green Arrow, only a fraction of which showed in Oliver Queen. His every move was silk-smooth where Ollie held himself stiff. Green Arrow cracked jokes while Oliver Queen barely cracked a grin.

"Superman, Green Arrow and I will be your primary bodyguards," said Black Canary. "Don't let anyone else in unless one of us accompanies them, even if they look like JL or have ID. There'll be two of us at any given time. I'm sure you all know the bodyguard drill by now: don't leave without telling us, stay away from the windows, follow everything we say when things go wrong, et cetera. Nobody try to be a hero, Lane."

Lois threw her hands up. "Come on, Canary, I saved your ass by taking that shot."

"I was talking about the time you drove a Hummer at the Joker's tank."

"It worked."

Rolling her eyes, Black Canary asked the others, "Has she always been like this?"

"From what I can remember, yes," said Lana.

Lois glared at her, only half-joking. "Thanks a lot."

Green Arrow interrupted the banter. "Superman's on his way with the rest of your--"

A knock sounded at the door.

"Show off," muttered Green Lantern. He opened the door. A blur of red, blue and yellow zipped in. As soon as the door closed, Conner hopped out of Superman's carry.

"If I bought a vintage Hog," he said, "would it even come close to being that _cool_?"

"Probably not," Lois said. "But you could always ask to borrow Clark's."

"_You_ own a--"

Superman jerked his hand in a silencing gesture. "Ms. Lane, have you filled them in about names?"

Lois shook her head. "We just got here. I've barely got my land legs back. Do we have coffee?"

When Green Arrow pointed at the proper cupboard, Lois made a beeline for it. "The other identity is always referred to in the third person. We're safe from bugs here but it's better to get into the habit."

"We could always make it easier and ask Raven to do a memory wipe," said Black Canary.

"Not in hell," said Lois cheerfully. "When have I ever accepted that offer?"

Pete jumped into the conversation. "What happened to you? Conner, your shirt--"

"Are those bullet holes?" Lana exclaimed.

Superman frowned. "Someone was waiting for Conner and Clark at the condo. She was a meta-human, a chameleon of some sort. She demolished the place looking for Ms. Sullivan's document but fortunately, she was deterred."

"They didn't count on Mom's pure genius though," said Conner. "She had a back-up taped to the side of the fridge."

"Is it anyone we know?" asked Green Arrow.

Superman shook his head. "No."

"I took care of her," Conner said with obvious pride. "I dodged almost all her bullets. I even caught one and I totally would've run after her but S--Clark, uh, tripped on me."

Throwing Conner an admonishing look, Superman continued. "I detained her until Impulse and Aquaman came to take her into custody. Meanwhile, we have a lead on the article." He produced a memory stick. "Decode this and you can all go home sooner."

"Chloe was a computer genius," Lana pointed out. "Where would we even start?"

Lois waved a hand at Conner. "She must've taught you everything she knew, Junior. I'm sure the five of us would equal one Chloe."

Pete and Lois unpacked their laptops, Lana, her DVD player. Superman took that moment to go civilian so that Clark could also take his laptop out.

"Pete, what kind of security system do you have on your computer?" asked Lois.

"Foxtecha," Pete replied.

"How many password attempts before it kills the hard drive?"

"Six."

"Not bad. We'll use yours as primary. Conner, are you techie enough to link the rest of us up?"

"Not Mr. Ross'," said Conner. "That probably needs government clearance to add any sort of peripheral programs or hardware."

"Where's Cyborg when you need him?" Clark wondered.

"In Pakistan," said Green Arrow.

"Oh. Uh. Good for him."

"Can't we just beam the info?" asked Lana.

"We can try but I have a feeling that Mr. Ross' system would have a pretty strict firewall," Conner said.

"We also can't risk sending it by email," said Clark. "So it'll have to be by memory stick. Clunky and slow but safe."

"As long as no one gets the stick," said Lois.

Lois positioned herself beside Pete as he slipped the memory stick into the reader in his computer. A browser brought up a single word processor document. He clicked on it. A continuous paragraph of gibberish came on screen, spanning four pages.

"Code," said Lois. "Do you know what kind, Conner?"

"Right off the top of my head? Heck no. But maybe after I look at it for a while, some patterns'll come up." Conner pulled the computer closer to him. His eyes scanned the text with preternatural swiftness.

Something wasn't right. Inhaling coffee fumes for inspiration, Lois stared at the screen, not really reading the text but studying it overall.

"It's too short," said Lois after a few minutes.

"The article?" Clark asked.

She nodded. "If the expose was that big, it'd be longer than three pages, double-spaced in twelve-point font. Seven or eight pages is better. Plus, where's all the documentation? She has to have papers to back up the story or else it's worth less than the paper it's printed on. Check for any hidden files, Con."

Conner did as he was told but came up with nothing. "Maybe the rest of it was in the laptop."

"Doubt it. Remember: think like Chloe everyone."

After a few seconds of silence, Clark snapped his fingers. "She split the info up. The rest of the piece and the documentation are probably in other cards hidden somewhere else."

"In the condo?"

"Not secure enough. She would've placed them in different buildings." Lois jumped to her feet and began pacing; she always thought better on the move. "Her office?"

"Mom's a freelancer," Conner said.

"A colleague or a boyfriend."

"A best friend," added Pete.

Conner wrinkled his nose. "They'd all be on her contact list on her laptop or her phone."

"Both of which are toast," said Clark.

"The will!" Lois smacked her hands together.

"It's with the will?"

"No, the things she gave us in the will. Listen, Boutboul said that the five of us had to be notified at specific times in accordance to Chloe's will. That has to be a clue."

"But we don't have the will," Conner said.

"Time, it's all about the time." Snatching a sheet of paper from her notepad, Lois asked, "Clark, what time did you get Boutboul's call?"

"After dinner," he said. "About eight o' clock."

"Pete?"

"Lunchtime," Pete answered immediately.

"I got the call at ten in the morning," said Lana.

Lois scribbled furiously. "Conner?"

He rubbed his face roughly. "Nine, just before first period ended."

"And I got mine at four. Hey, Lana, there are twenty-four vids right?"

"Yes," Lana said.

"Okay, so check out clip numbers nine, ten, twelve, sixteen and twenty. Corresponding to the twenty-four hour clock," Lois explained to the four puzzled faces. Six, including Green Arrow and Black Canary.

"I want to check that storage facility where Chloe left stuff for Lana," Clark said. "She might have back-ups there, too."

"With that logic, we might as well check out Mr. Sullivan's desk and their old house in Smallville," Lana said.

"Absolutely!"

"I was joking."

"I'm not. I think I have Uncle Gabe's contact info somewhere." Lois thumbed through her cell-phone with one hand and clicked on her laptop with the other.

With a fond sigh, Clark said, "We might as well plan these missions."

Black Canary, who hadn't bothered to hide her interest in the unfolding mystery, asked, "How do you know something will come up?"

"We don't but once Lois gets an idea in her head, she doesn't let go. There's a reason why they call her Mad Dog Lane."

* * *

How events managed to spiral into a negative vortex was beyond Lois' understanding. Rather, she understood that Conner and Clark snapped at each other again but she didn't know _why_. One minute, they'd been planning retrieval missions and the next--

Clark drew himself up to full height, his hands fisted on his hips. "Do you honestly think after what you pulled in London that you'd be safe in the missions?"

Conner, a head shorter than Clark, bounced on the balls of his feet to angrily meet Clark's glare. His jaw jutted out and his body vibrated with tension. "You're just pissed off 'cause I got the job done."

"You compromised our identity. If we hadn't captured her--"

"But we did thanks to, wait, who? _Me!_"

"--she could have gone to her superiors and reported your powers. From there, it's only a short time before our identities--"

"Oh, come the fuck on! If my mom could keep my powers a secret by herself while travelling all over world--"

"I'm _not_ your mother!" His own vehemence seemed to shake Clark out of his anger. His posture relaxed but it was half a second too late.

"The fuck if I want you to be my father either!" Conner spat over his shoulder as he stalked to his room.

Clark deflated completely, covering his face with one hand. Sliding off the arm of the couch, Lois tip-toed beside him to squeeze his forearm. _Are you okay?_

"Lois," he said, plaintive. _What the hell just happened?_

_I'll talk to him._ Lois' nod to the door said.

Conner crouched behind the door of his room, his knees pressed into his eyes. She slid down beside him.

"Y'know for the first three years that I knew him, Clark and I did nothing but fight," she said. "Everything he said or did pissed me off."

"But you eventually figured out that bickering was actually a grown-up version of pushing people you like in kindergarten and you all lived happily ever after with roses and shit," drawled Conner. "Mom made me read Jane Austen, too."

"I prefer to believe that Clark just doesn't know how to communicate verbally. He knows the words-- I think he memorised the dictionary in junior high-- but you have to ignore his words sometimes and look at his actions." Lois nudged the boy's knee. "What was he doing while he was yelling at you?"

"Posing."

She snorted down a laugh. "For the record, I don't think you should come either. It's hard enough faking a paper trail for two from here to France to Kansas."

He twisted his face into a grimace that she was already sick of. Did she ever carry a chip that big on her shoulder as a kid? She hoped not; that meant Clark had had good reason to be annoyed all those years ago.

"I don't like him ordering me around," he said.

"Don't take it personally, Junior. He orders everyone around. Actually," she tapped her chin, "he doesn't even order. He suggests and everyone falls into his spell and agrees. Irritating as hell, isn't it?"

He almost smiled. "If you guys argue so much, why do you stay with him? There are a lot of other cooler guys out here"

Lois turned around slowly, hands on her hips. "Are you hitting on me? No, no, stop blushing, kid; I'm teasing."

"You look like her," Conner blurted out.

Emotion choked Lois' throat. "Like Chloe?"

He nodded, eyes lowered. Slowly, afraid he'd bolt, she stepped closer until she could put both hands on his shoulders.

"Thank you."

He cried like Clark, gasps and shoulder-shakes but no tears. A memory of Jonathan Kent's' funeral flashed through her mind. Clark had been too stoic then, preferring to concentrate on righting his father's death than actually grieving. Not that she could be accused of dealing with death in a healthy manner but at least she let her emotions out.

"Has your mom told you about the time she saved my life during the second Smallville meteor strike? No? Okay, let me tell you."

* * *

With Clark and Lois headed for an untraceable drop in France, the rest of the detective work fell on Pete, Lois and Conner. Slapping imaginary dust from his slacks, Pete sat down on the couch. "Okay, what do we have?"

"Watch this." Conner clicked over the slow play button several times. Chloe's recitation of "Monday's Child" ground to a fifth of normal viewing time.

"What am I looking at?"

"That."

Pete squinted at the screen. "What?"

Lana rewound the clip. "Watch her hands."

The clip played again, slower. Chloe's voice became comically low and slow but Pete ignored it. Her hands were on the desk, fingers laced in perfect grade-school posture. Then her thumb snapped up.

"That!" said Lana and Conner, excitement obvious.

Pete raised an eyebrow. "So her thumb moved. I'm not seeing the huge revelation."

"Mom's kept her hands so still for all the rest of it," Conner said. "Look, they're clenched so tightly in some places that her knuckles are white.

"We wrote down the words where her fingers twitched. We think it might mean something." Lana showed him a sheet of paper.

Pete took it, skimming the words. "King, row, you, piper, Tuesday, of, spider. Wonderful. It's all becoming clear to me now."

"We were brain-storming and googling for a while but nothing makes sense."

Pete studied the words for a while, reading and remixing their order. Finally, he re-wrote them into a list. "Maybe we're trying too hard. If we list them in order, the first letters of these words spell 'kryptos.' Anyone have any idea what that means?"

"Maybe Chloe meant Krypton," said Lana as Conner's fingers flew over his laptop.

Doubtfully, Pete said, "I can't remember Chloe ever misspelling anything."

"It says here that kryptos is Greek for 'hidden,'" Connor said.

"That's helpful," said Pete. "We're looking for something hidden in Greece?"

"Mom's never been to Greece."

"That could be the whole point," Lana said. "Where better to hide something than a place that you're not connected to?"

"This would be so much easier if we actually knew what we were looking for," said Conner. "What if it's not in Greece but about Greece? Or what if it's about sororities and fraternities?"

"Chloe declared herself allergic to the combination of Greek and college after the Buffy Sanders piece way back in first year," said Lana. "Unless the story reveals millennia-old, cross-continental ritual homicide, I doubt it would be enough to warrant a hit on Chloe."

Conner threw her a puzzled look. "What _do_ you think is worth a hit?"

"People kill for two reasons and two reasons only: money or sex. Leaving out certifiably insane people like the Joker, of course."

"Sometimes you scare me, Lana," Pete said, only half-joking.

Static crackled from one corner of the room where Black Canary stood guard. "The 'Tower just sent me a police fax from England that might interest you." She swivelled her monitor around so they could see.

It was a scan of a coroner's report for a victim of a possible homicide. Cause of death was drowning, facilitated by a blow to the head with a blunt object. The corpse's face, pinned to the front folder, was of a bloated, grey Ramir Boutboul.

* * *

By the time she left with Clark, Conner was in a better mood, almost cheerful. Unfortunately, Lois' good mood ended at Versailles where the storage facility was surrounded by police cars and fire trucks.

"Crud," Clark said with the vehemence usually confined to more vulgar swear words.

Lois pulled free of his handhold to approach a uniform. "Excusez-moi, officer. Um, qu'est ce qui est arrivé?(5)"

"A fire, madame," said the officer just slowly enough that Lois could follow his French. "Please stay back to keep from being hurt."

Clark jumped in with his much better French. "We're reporters. Do you have a statement?"

"I will leave that to the Lieutenant, sir, madame. Now please, back away."

Lois bounced to the balls of her feet, ready to protest but Clark pulled her away. "It's not worth it. Whatever was in there is gone now to us and whoever was after Chloe can't get it either."

"Unless the other side got here before us and blew the place up so we couldn't trace it."

"Possible. The end result is the same: we have nothing more to gain and drawing attention to ourselves is counter-productive."

Lois sighed. "Double crud. So now what?"

"I say we head over to the States to visit Smallville or Mr. Sullivan."

"The house and the writing desk."

"Exactly."

"Be good. Remember he told me that he visited Smallville once in a while incognito and you went all quiet and growly with undisclosed disapproval?"

"He's in the Witness Protection Program," said Clark.

"Hey, I'd go apeshit too if I had to stay in disguise forever. Present company excepted. So do we fly commercial or private?"

Clark set his jaw in a grim line. "If they're going to cheat, I don't see why we can't use a few advantages ourselves."

"I love it when you pretend to break the rules."

Smallville never changed, not really. Stores exchanged hands, new paint was slapped on sidings but the atmosphere stayed the same. The city's population hadn't changed by much since she and Clark left; Smith Jr. replaced Smith Sr. and so on and so forth such that Lois , who'd never been good with names, could guess names with decent accuracy.

Time moved as slow as ever, too, with countless acquaintances wanting to greet Clark thus, by extension, Lois who was ready to crack.

"This really is the town that time and deductive reasoning forgot," she said. "Wait! A bubble-tea shop! I might have to rethink that 'time forgot' part."

"Chloe's old house is down on Singer Drive," said Clark. "Old Mrs. Kowalchuck said the new family that lives there is really ni--"

Grabbing his sleeve, Lois tugged Clark into the alcove of the flower shop. "Don't look now but the world's most over-rated cueball is coming our way. Stop! Don't look-- shit, too late."

"If it isn't the Dynamic Duo." Lex Luthor raised his travel coffee mug to his lips and took a delicate sip. His detail stood a not-so-discrete three feet away.

"Actually, that moniker refers to Batman and Robin, more specifically, the Gotham Star. You'll get in trouble mixing up branding like that." Clark fiddled with his glasses.

Lex threw him a glare. "Cute, Clark."

Clark shrugged and looked away.

Fortunately, Lois took the offensive for him. "What are you doing back here, Luthor? Did you miss a square inch of Smallville to dig up, poison or otherwise demolish? Please, tell all; we know you're just dying to have another convoluted reveal."

His mouth twisting into a smile, Lex said, "Hardly convoluted to people who see reason and logic."

"How can anything that comes out of your mouth possibly be reasonable?"

"My popularity is still in the high eighties. The polls don't lie, Ms Lane."

"Supposedly, neither do kids and photographs. I guess we all need to live with disappointment," Lois shot back.

"Is it so difficult to believe that I just wanted to visit?"

"Yes," Lois and Clark chorused.

Lex shrugged. "Nevertheless, it's true. I consider Smallville my spiritual birthplace. My experiences here made me the man I am today."

"And for that, we're heartily sorry," Clark said under his breath.

"But enough about me; what are Metropolis' finest mud-slingers doing here?"

"You're only angry 'cause you're coated in dirt," Lois said, her tone saccharine. "Can't stand your weekly bath?"

"Once again, you resort to mindless insults when logic fails to support your asinine ideas. Ms. Lane, you really should think about a career change." He snapped his fingers. "You know, you looked awfully cute in a barista's apron way back when."

Clark had to hold Lois's arm back. "Just one punch," she begged him. "The Planet's insurance can cover it."

Smiling, Lex took another sip of his coffee then said, "If you lay one hand on me, I'll have a lawsuit slap you so hard that even Superman will feel his teeth throb. How _is_ our friendly, neighbourhood alien invader, by the way?"

"Taking care of problems," said Clark.

Lex spread his arms wide. "According to you, I'm public enemy number one and yet he's not here."

"Superman leaves the small-time crooks to us."

Lex glowered.

Clark held his hand out for Lois. "We better get home before Mom's lunch gets cold." Without bothering to say good-bye, he frog marched in the general direction of the Kent farm.

"I didn't think you had it in you to hit people where it hurt outside of the literal sense.," said Lois. "I'm _so_ proud of you! Where are we going?"

"We might as well visit Mom while we're here. Luthor'll get suspicious if we don't do as we say."

* * *

The way Lana saw it, her current ethical-emotional stress was a direct consequence of high school naïveté. For all her earlier insistence on straight-forwardness and transparency in any relationship, she had to make convoluted lie to save a child's life. Unsurprisingly, it came back to bite her in the rear.

She couldn't bring herself to call Conner "her son". The words froze even as they formed in her mind as though she'd trained herself to associate those words as taboo. He was a beautiful child, handsome as Clark had always been but without the fearful hunch to his shoulders. No, Conner and "shy" didn't belong in the same sentence.

"What?" asked Pete.

She jerked upright. He and Conner had been intent on their respective computer screens when she began her musings. "I was just remembering when Clark was Conner's age."

Conner smirked. "Let me guess: chess club, glee club and voted Most Likely to Love His Cubicle?"

"honour roll, school paper reporter and eventually captain of the football team," said Lana. "But no, he was never that popular. He never really... joined in."

Conner hummed, pretending indifference, but she saw that his eyes were no longer scanning text.

"Clark's never been a joiner," was all Pete said. "Do you have anything yet?"

Shaking his hair out of his eyes, Conner refocused. "Yeah. I think it's a Vigenère, Mom's favourite like I said before. But you need a keyword to crack it."

"Hopefully, Lois and Clark have a lead on that," said Pete. He uncrossed his legs and stretched, good and hard with his fingers laced and his arms over his head. "I haven't spent this much time on the computer since college."

"What exactly is a Vigenère cipher? We need to understand it to know what we should look for," said Lana

Pulling on his ear in thought, Conner ripped out a sheet of paper from one of Lois' many legal pads. "You've got a Caesar cipher, right? It's just a shift code, y'know, where one letter's replaced by another a certain number of places down. So if your shift parameter is three, then D would equal A, E would equal B, F would equal C. And if I was going to write 'Hello' in a 3-shift Caesar, it's be spelled K-H-O-O-R. Get it?"

The two adults nodded.

"There's a lot of stuff you can do with it to make it harder, like using spaces and numbers in the shift. But it's easy enough to crack 'cause you just have to understand the letter distribution in a certain language and then just brute-attack it-- test every possible shift parameter. So for English, what a code-cracker would look for is the equivalent of E 'cause that's the most used letter.

"A Vigenère is like a Caesar on steroids. You chart out the alphabet in an X and Y plane--" Conner drew and filled in the chart, his pen a blur-- "so that in each, the alphabet is shifted down a letter. It's basically a table of all the possible Caesar ciphers. This time when you want to write out a message, you use a keyword to encrypt."

"My head's starting to hurt," Pete said.

Conner grinned. "Dude, I've been doing this stuff since I was eight. Okay, so for example, if you wanted to send the message 'Luthor is s noob', first you get rid of the spaces."

He wrote out LUTHORISANOOB in large block letters below the Vigenère chart.

"Then pick out a keyword smaller than the whole message and repeat it until so that line uses as many characters as the original message. Let's make the keyword SHINY."

Under the first line, he wrote SHINYSHINYSHI.

"Now what you gotta do is use the key line to figure out which row in the table you're going to use. So for the first letter, L, you gotta use the S row; that means L translates to D. Then for the next one, U uses the H row, T uses the I row and you keep doing that until the entire message is encoded."

He zipped through the rest of the encryption, resulting in the line DBBUMJPANLGVJ.

By this time, Lana's head was starting to ache as well. "That looks almost impossible to break. There's no way you could use letter frequency to decode it."

"You _can_ but you have to use an equation that takes in probabilities and randomization to calculate the coincidence rate, and I am so losing you guys, aren't I?"

"Very much."

"It takes math," Conner said simply.

Just then, Black Canary's cell phone chirped. "Mac'n'cheese." That had been the agreed password with the reply, "Peanut butter celery sticks." So far, all Lana's expectations of spy games had been shattered.

The caller must have given the proper answer because Black Canary proceeded to give an update in short, nearly nonsensical points. "GA's perim and clear. Stock's put. Light on the package but we need your trip." There was a long pause then she held the phone out. "He wants to talk to one of you."

Lana jumped to grab it. "Hello?"

"It's me," said Clark. "How're things there?"

"Slow going. Conner knows what kind of encryption was used but he needs a keyword to crack it."

"We're not doing much better here. The old Sullivan place had nothing; we did a_very_ thorough check. We're at Gabe Johnson's place now--" Lana wrinkled her brow until she remembered that Chloe's dad was living under an assumed name-- "He had what we needed at least."

"What'll you do now?"

"We keep on working on what leads we have. Hang on, here's Lois."

Clicking and shuffling noises came through the receiver before Lois's abrupt voice came on. "Can you put Con on?"

"Uh, yes, of course." Lana held the phone out to the boy who swung over the back of his seat in his rush to take it. It was a graceful move, almost gravity defying. Lana bit her lip.

"Hi, Aunt Lo!"

He already called _her_ Aunt Lo? She herself barely warranted eye-contact never mind a "Mrs. Ross" and Lois Lane already got a nickname? Envy coated Lana's chest but she willed it away. Sulking was for kids; she was an adult who'd made adult decisions and if she didn't like the consequences, she could damn well do something about it.

Conner chatted animatedly for a few more minutes, the most she'd ever seen or heard from him. When he smiled, he looked even more like Clark with his dimples and moments of unguarded joy. It was with obvious reluctance that he hung up on Lois. Then the smile disappeared, the shoulders slumped and Conner was back to the sullen, sarcastic boy they were trapped with.

Lana had never done well as second best. She wasn't about to start this early in her life. "Conner, would you mind helping me get something out of my suitcase?"

"Why can't--" He just stopped short of being rude. "Okay."

He followed, slouching and dragging his feet, far enough away that Lana thought he wouldn't even come in.

"That was a lame excuse," he said, shutting the door behind him.

"What do you mean?"

"The whole getting something out of your suitcase excuse is lame. You could've just said that you wanted to talk to me."

Lana tilted her head to one side. "Would you have come?"

"Probably not."

"Hence the excuse."

He almost smiled, resisting the pull at the corners of his lips. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you're all right. You've been thrown into all of this so suddenly. I'm worried that you might not have had time to really grieve." Lana found herself plucking at the sheets, a nervous habit that she couldn't break.

"I'm dealing all right."

"Are you really?"

"Yes!" Dragging a hand through his hair, Conner pushed off the door and started pacing. "Looking for Mom's killers is helping me deal with it."

"Well, good," was all Lana could say.

Suddenly, Conner stopped pacing. He faced her full on and Lana was aghast to see his resentment so baldly expressed. "I know what this is all about."

"I'm afraid I--"

"You're not my mom."

_Ouch_. Lana reared back, gulping at the lump in her throat.

"Don't get me wrong," said Conner, "I don't hate you for giving me up. In fact, I'm friggin' ecstatic about it. She's-- she _was_ the best mom in the world and just because you're here now and she isn't, it doesn't meant that you get to magically fill in her place. It doesn't work like that."

"I never wanted that," she lied. "I just... wanted to get to know you."

He snorted. "I so cannot deal with that right now."

"You seem to deal well enough with Lois."

He looked away, no smart comeback. Encouraged, Lana inched closer.

"I can wait until you're ready, Conner. Don't you think I'm hurt too? By Chloe's death, by the fact that I had to give you up. I've always wanted to be a part of your life."

Conner shook his head, his mouth twisted into a grimace. "Y'know, I believed you until that last sentence."

He left, a blur of red and blue. Pete peered through the open door, one eyebrow cocked in a wordless query. There was disapproval there, too

"He's being unfair!" she blurted out. "It's not as if I didn't agonize over that decision. He acts like I threw him out with last season's accessories when..." Teeth gritted, she turned away, collecting herself. Her temples throbbed. She missed her girls. She missed them so much she could all but smell talcum powder and feel their springy curls under her hand. Chloe's twenty-four clues hadn't included Lana's favourite lullaby, "All the Pretty Little Horses." She sang it to the girls almost every night. She'd sung it to Conner the night before she gave him up.

* * *

Clark and Lois returned from the States, disheartened with their meagre find.

"Half is better than nothing," said Clark. "If we decrypt what we have, I'm sure we can re-create the rest of the piece."

"And the evidence?" asked Lana.

"We'll reverse-track it. Even one lead is good enough."

Pete saw Clark almost humming with excited energy. He _liked_ this, the search and mystery of an investigation. It shouldn't have been a surprise considering how well the Lane-Kent team was thought of in journalism but the friend he'd grown up with reacted to situations rather than take a pro-active role. Pete was stuck once again with the changes life wrought on the old Smallville gang.

A little less than twenty-four hours later came the second breakthrough. No one was as surprised as Pete when he discovered the keywords. A simple online search for the word "kryptos" resulted in hundreds of sites about a sculpture on cafeteria courtyard of CIA headquarters, a three-dimensional puzzle which was so well encrypted that experts and hobby groups alike hadn't solved it all.

"But there's four keywords in the Kryptos sculpture," Conner pointed out. "How do we know which one to use?"

"Use the first keyword for the drive we found at your condo and the third one for the drive in Uncle Gabe's," said Lois.

"How do you know that?"

"I have a hunch."

Conner looked at the others. Pete could only shrug but Clark nodded.

"Lois has notoriously good hunches," he explained. Pete thought he heard an added, "When they don't get her nearly killed," in an undertone.

After the success of the first keyword, Pete pretty much felt superfluous. Clark and Conner decoded the documents with such speed that their fingers were blurs over the keyboards. He, Lois and Lana watched, interested, of course but he felt as though there was nothing left for him to do.

Pete snorted._Okay, Ross, you're allowed two minutes of pity party then you go ahead and thank God that your biggest worry is trade negotiations instead of the fate of the world._

"Do you think I could check my messages?" he asked Green Arrow, holding up his smart-phone. "I won't answer them; I just have to make sure there's nothing urgent."

"Sure. Let me just hook it up to our scrambler." Green Arrow attached several cables to the phone's ports then ran it through a peripheral on one of the bright blue Justice League laptops. "You have thirty minutes tops. After that, the encryption can be traced."

"Thanks. Hey, do you have a secure line for my girls to talk or write on?"

"We check in on the other team every three hours. I can request a short message between you and your daughters every twenty-four hours if you'd like."

"I'd really appreciate it."

Green Arrow nodded, stepping back to give Pete access to the computer. Thirty-one email messages waited in his inbox, a slow day. Pete skimmed through the subject lines, opening the handful marked with an exclamation point. Near the bottom f the list with the most recent was a message from the president's secretary.

Pete clicked it open. He knew what it would be about. Luthor wanted to push a bill that would let Prometheus Pharmaceuticals give experimental inoculations to Yuacic, a French-governed territory. While the inoculations meant a decrease in infant mortality, Prometheus would effectively own the territory in terms of millions of dollars of credit. And while it wasn't traceable on the surface, Pete knew the Prometheus was just a sub-branch of LexCorp. So much for neutralising conflict of interest.

"What's it like having Luthor as a boss?" asked Green Arrow.

"That's a tricky question," said Pete. "If I say something positive, knowing the JL's stance against the current administration, you'll jump down my throat. If I say something negative, I'm being unpatriotic and hypocritical about my job."

"That's not an answer." Green Arrow leaned back, resting his bow on the table. "I'll admit I hate Luthor's guts and I would do anything to see him out of the oval office ASAP. But as someone who grew up in the States, I know the country's bigger than the head honcho of the term. So you tell me how you feel as Pete Ross not as Consul Ross and I promise I won't try to snatch government secrets from your equipment while you're under my protection."

Pete leaned his elbows on the desk as he finished reading the president's message. "I got my position before Luthor was voted into office. Usually, that doesn't really matter-- I'm not the ambassador. I knew he had an issue with Clark; the Luthor I knew in Smallville wouldn't have forgotten that tie of friendship.

"He's never taken outright advantage of my connection with Clark. I've played it off as a half-forgotten childhood thing but he has this way of... wording things--"

"I don't think I need to tell you to be careful," said Green Arrow.

"I always feel like a pork chop in front of a starving pit bull around him," Pete said. "I like some of the initiatives of the current administration but I question the motives behind them. How's that for a diplomatic answer?"

"Pretty good. I'd hate to see you run for office."

"Good. I'd hate to run."

"Holy ever-loving blue shits, Batman." Lois said from the other side of the room. Clark was pale. "You guys have to read this."

Pete realised the danger was just beginning.

* * *

TRANSLATIONS  
1) _**Mama, nous sommes rided on a plane just only me et Belle et aussi j'n'pleur pas even Bella pleur lots**_. -- Mama, we rided on a plane just only me and Belle and also I didn't cry even Bella cry lots.  
2) _**Mama, pourquoi you have to go encore?**_-- Mama, why you have to go again?  
3) _**Soyez obéissants pendant notre absence?**_ -- Be good while we're gone, okay?  
4) _**Oui, Daddy**_ -- Yes, Daddy  
5)_**Excusez-moi, officer. Um, qu'est ce qui est arrivé?**_ -- Excuse me, officer. Um, what happened? 


	5. Chapter 5

After Lois outlined Chloe's article, they decided to fetch as much documentation as possible to cement the piece. With two missing flash drives, the only option left was to get it straight for the source. With replacement safehouse detail secured, Green Arrow and Superman took a jet back to the Watchtower. They carried Chloe's information in triplicate: one hard copy, one copy booted into the jet's computer and one on a thumb drive locked in Green Arrow's belt.

"Do you know who's in?" asked Green Arrow.

Superman thought for a second. "Nightwing, Grace, Tempest and Raven. Cyborg and Hawkgirl are still on their mission. No one else is on rotation this week."

"Batman would be great for this mission."

"Batman may help if we send an engraved invitation and danced a hula."

"Kinky."

"It _is_ Batman."

"True."

The Watchtower was built on one of the many islands in the Pacific Ocean in such a way that the building effectively engulfed the island. Funded jointly by Wayne Enterprises, Queen Industries and donations from public and private sectors, it incorporated a hangar, barracks, several meeting rooms, a general assembly hall, a trophy room, a virtual-reality practice room affectionately nicknamed The Kitchen, a gym, medical quarters and a monitoring room. Other than the aerial hangar access, only two other entrances existed: one underwater port for submersibles and water-based members and a south-facing grand entrance on the ground floor which only visitors used.

Grace's voice came through the PA system. "Welcome back, Javelin-2. Would you like to hear today's specials?"

"Only if Alfred's cooking," said Superman.

"I can always kidnap Nightwing for ransom. Him for a seven-course meal plus matching booze."

"Not Batman?"

Grace snorted. "You kidding me? He'd _pay_ me to take the Bat off his hands."

Out of nowhere came Batman's voice. "Really?"

Silence descended on both the monitor room and the hangar.

"He's creepy," Grace said by way of breaking the tension. "Code's clear Javelin-2; park that sucker."

Green Arrow flipped on the vertical-thrust systems and eased the jet down through the open hangar doors. Ten minutes of maintenance checks later, they disembarked. As the jet door opened and unfolded into steps, Superman saw a very familiar dark-haired teenager brushing ice and soot from his jacket.

"Conner?"

The boy had the grace to look sheepish. "Hi. Flying coach is hell, huh?"

Superman remembered to unclench his teeth. "You hitched a ride on the jet?"

Smile widening nervously, Connor nodded. "I think I left a couple of dents on the nose. Sorry."

As he spoke, Grace almost literally ploughed through the Watchtower doors, hands fisted together for attack. Since she was seven-feet tall and covered in tattoos, it was an intimidating sight for the uninitiated. "Signals caught a stowaway! Be sharp!"

Green Arrow stepped aside to reveal Conner.

Grace's eyes widened momentarily. "Fuck me, Big Blue, you didn't tell us you had a munchkin."

"It's cool," began Conner, "he didn't know--"

"That you would actually disobey me instead of staying at home," Clark interrupted, sending Connor a pointed look.

Fortunately, he caught on quickly. "Really, Dad, between studying American History and making American History, which one would you pick?"

Grace chuckled. "He's funny! Can we keep him, huh, GA, can we, can we, can we?"

"Entrance to the Watchtower is strictly invitation only," Green Arrow said. "Violation of this rule can be considered hostile and we'd be allowed to deal with you as we see fit."

Conner gulped audibly. "I can help."

"How?" Superman fired back.

"I heard you guys saying that you're under-manned. I'm strong and fast and invulnerable, like you. I know a lot about computers and I know what M--Ms Sullivan would look for."

"Grace also has beta-level strength and alpha-level invulnerability," said Green Arrow.

Looking her up and down, Conner said, "I'm smaller; I can fit into a lot of places that you all can't."

Green Arrow cocked an eyebrow in a manner than Superman knew to mean "He has a point."

"He's too young--" said Superman.

Snorting, Grace said, "Man, we were younger when we started off."

"-- and untrained."

"Neither were we."

"Come on!" Conner persisted. "Batman has Robin. Green Arrow mentored Arsenal. I could be like... like..."

"Superboy," said Grace.

The rest the boys rolled their eyes.

"This is why I make up the codenames," said Green Arrow.

"If it was up to you, I'd be called something fucked up like Purple Hammer or Powergirl. Fuck that! Like anyone is going to mistake me for another seven-foot tall Asian chick with purple hair."

Conner was beaming. "Superheroes _swear_!"

This was rapidly turning into a gong show.

"Superman and... uh, Superboy can I have a word with you two?" Green Arrow led them out to the hallway and closed the door. "Conner has a point."

"He's never done this before," Superman protested. "He's emotionally involved; he has a tendency to be reckless and sometimes he reacts instinctively instead of thinking things through."

Conner threw up his arms. "I have more in stake in this mission than any of you. They killed _my_ mom, remember?"

"That's the exact reason why you shouldn't come."

"Well, I'm just going to find a reason to come whether or not you want me to, s-so there!" He crossed his arms and glared but could only make eye contact for a few seconds.

Superman took a deep breath. "Green Arrow, a minute please."

Ollie bowed out, making his way down the hall, whistling to keep from over-hearing anything.

"Do you think this is a game?" Superman demanded.

"Screw you."

"Conner!"

"What? You come in because my mom called you _finally_ after years of air silence and you think just because you have a piece of paper saying so, you can order me around? I can take care myself fine. It was just Mom and me all my life and we survived until now."

"That's just it. Until now. There's obviously something going on here that neither of you can handle so you should just leave it--"

"No! No, no, no and fucking no! I am _not_ sitting on my ass in Buttfuck Southeastern Europe waiting for you to rescue us!"

"And I'm not going into a mission worrying about you at the same time."

"If it was your mom, would you stand by?"

Damn. He was hoping Conner wouldn't pull this. Superman couldn't lie, especially not about this. He shook his head.

Conner beamed. "Then I'm going."

"Fine, but you stay with me at all times. No solos, no engaging the enemy, strictly defensive and data mining roles and as soon as any goes remotely wrong, you're back in the jet. Green Arrow!"

His teammate raised both arms. "I wasn't listening."

"Superboy needs a costume. Make sure it covers his face as much as possible. And that it's made of Nomex. And embed a tracking device in his shorts."

"Hey!" Conner squawked.

"If you don't do as you're told in this mission, you're grounded for the rest of your life," Superman added for good measure. "So if Batman's predictions prove correct, that means approximately ninety years of no life."

"I haven't even had a chance to mess up yet!"

"I'm being pre-emptive."

By this time, they'd walked to the closest meeting room. Grace had brought a portable unit from the monitoring room. She plunked that on the table as she sat down with her feet up. Conner followed her suit, pointedly ignoring Superman's admonishing expression. "So what's the mission?" she asked.

Green Arrow put the thumb drive into a console to bring up information on the debriefing screen. "Prometheus Pharmaceuticals has been giving free inoculations to Yuacic supposedly as part of its global awareness campaign. We have reason to believe that LexCorp, which ultimately owns Prometheus, is actually giving an experimental type of gene therapy."

"What kind?"

"That's what we have to find out," said Superman. "A week ago, we believe that a reporter named Chloe Sullivan was killed for this information. She'd been writing an exposé on Prometheus. Since her death, the solicitor in charge of her will has also been found dead. A warehouse in France which may have had a lion's share of the documentation has been also been burned down, we believe to destroy Sullivan's evidence."

Grace whistled. "That's Luthor for you. Plated gold and cubic zirconium on the outside, plain old shit on the inside."

"The information we have implicates a LexCorp office in Rome. We need to go in and hopefully obtain the documents that were destroyed. We're looking for anything that solidly ties Luthor to this inoculation project. That's cell phone records, email, IP addresses, bank deposits, anything and everything."

"Cool, a smash and grab."

"I was actually hoping for a tip-toe and photocopy."

Green Arrow brought down another monitor in preparation for mission planning. "That's exactly what we'll get. Grace, find Nightwing--"

"Gone. Bats pulled his leash," Grace said.

"Like I said, get ready for the project. Call Tempest and tell him he's taking up the rest of your monitor duty, too."

"He'll love that."

"Well, once he can differentiate between a wave and a typhoon, maybe we can take him on missions again." To Conner, he said, "There's an armoury beside the hangar. Take one of Superman's costumes, the one without a cape. Comme-links are in the central shelving. Then come right back here so we can input your information into the Watchtower's database."

"Yessir!" Connor jumped up, almost vibrating although Superman couldn't tell if he was excited or scared. He zipped out the doors and down the hall then, seconds later, zipped in the opposite direction. Green Arrow and Grace winced. Superman pinched the bridge of his nose.

* * *

Forty feet under LexCorp's supposed Rome think-tank were catacombs converted into electronics laboratories and information storage. First focusing through the primary cover, Superman talked Green Arrow through the proper short-circuiting parameters. A quick glance through the walls showed that the IR grid was gone for now. Grace tore the door from its hinges, allowing Superman to speed to the other side where another armed door lay. This time, Conner pulled it out as soon as Superman shorted the alarm. As the rear guard, Green Arrow was the last in the storage room.

"Is this the place?" he asked.

"Filing cabinets as far as the eye can see," said Grace. "We'd better speed read if we want to get anywhere."

"How come they're not labelled?" Conner asked.

"Because Luthor is certifiably paranoid," said Superman.

"With good reason. Boy Blue can start in his row; everyone else, pick a place. Go through everything systematically. We want as much dirt as possible; the smellier the shit, the better." Green Arrow flashed his trademark smile. Superman didn't return it. He never did. Defeating Lex never gave him real satisfaction, only a vague sense of melancholy.

"You kind of suck at code names, too," Conner said as he turned to the filing cabinets.

"Superman's the Big Blue Boy Scout so you're the Little Boy Blue. It makes sense in my head."

"Pancake-based breakfast sandwiches make sense in your head," said Grace.

"A full meal with all your breakfast favourites in a grease-proof packet. What's not to like?"

"I know you're new but for your information, you have our permission to hit him. Everyone does," Superman told Grace.

Grace nodded. "I was going to do it anyway and blame my actions on Grodd."

Green Arrow pouted. "Where's the respect?"

"With your old packet of rubbers."

Conner snorted back his laughter. "Zing."

Superman rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh as well. Conner would never get discouraged if they actually made the League seem fun. "Keep an eye on your console," he told Conner, pointing at the electronic device on his belt. "The security override will cycle--"

Rolling his eyes, Conner said, "I know, I _was_ at the debriefing. Way up front even." He stalked to the far end of the room, leaving Superman to stare after him, nonplussed.

Green Arrow patted his shoulder. "Welcome to the Teenage Fathers' Club. Check your sanity at the door."

He blinked. "At least I won't have to worry about piercings in strange places."

"I'm sure he'll make up for it. Make-up maybe. Constant swearing. Those leather dog collars with spikes."

Superman couldn't prevent his grimace. "I'll take that end," he said instead.

Even in the middle of a mission, he couldn't help but watch over Conner out of the corner of his eye. The boy wasn't as smooth with his power; at times, filing cabinets opened with ease while others had to be finessed. He picked up Chloe's tendency to bare teeth as a sign of frustration. Superman had to smile at that. Unfortunately, Conner looked up at the same time and took the smile the wrong way.

"It comes and goes, okay? I haven't seen the sun in a while, that's all."

"I wasn't laughing at you."

Conner snorted and bent over his files.

"Really, I just--" He paused. Which would a teenager hate more? The being laughed at for incompetence or for being... well, cute? "It helps if you concentrate for a second. Let all your muscles tense up before you open it."

Conner snorted again but Superman noted that the filing cabinets after that opened effortlessly. He let himself grin stupidly.

* * *

Clark, Conner and the Green Arrow returned with six boxes' worth of possible material from Rome to sort through both hard copy and in digital format lined up on the dining table at the safe-house where everyone could pick up a file. Even with two speed-readers and extensive experience in skimming papers, the rest of the morning passed by in busy silence broken only occasionally by the gurgling of the coffee pot or the flushing of the toilet. Black Canary and Green Arrow helped now and again to pass the time.

At around two in the afternoon, Conner jumped up. He had a green tinge to his cheeks like he needed to vomit. The document in his hand trembled. Lana started to get up to see to him but Lois got there first.

"What's wrong?" she asked, glancing at the document as she put her hand on Conner's wrist. "What's that say?"

"Nothing!" He crumpled the sheaf into a ball. "It's... I... Shit, I'm going to..." He bolted for the bathroom. Lois rushed after him and Clark picked up the wadded document.

"What is it?" asked Lois.

"It's from July 2005 through December 2006," Clark read. He paused in awkward places, like he had to swallow bile. "There was a series cloning experiments using my DNA. The early ones showed a one-hundred percent failure rate; the human eggs rejected every implanted nucleus. The second phase attempted to stabilise the nucleus by splicing it with human genes." He swallowed several times.

"Which human did they use?" Lana feared she knew the answer.

"Lex Luthor's."

A blue and red streak ripped through the apartment and out the door. Lois called out, "Conner, wait!" but the boy was already miles away. "Fuck!" She smacked her fist against her open hand. "Did you--?"

He handed the report over. " I'll get him."

"Clark."

Having grown up with the Kents, Lana knew how to translate some non-verbals. _Hurt whoever's responsible_, Lois expression told Clark.

_Anything for you_, he replied, or something equally saccharine. He dropped the sheaf of papers and ran out after the boy.

Lana picked up it up, a hand up to her mouth, tears glistening at her lashes even as she berated herself for being bitchy. "Three percent of the eggs made it past the embryo stage but failed to thrive in the artificial wombs which had been so successful with pure human clones. The writer suggested implanting the remaining two embryos into a host mother that could be monitored at all times." Then she, too, couldn't continue.

In the kitchen, Lois was still swearing enough to colour the air blue, creating phrases that impressed even Black Canary.

"May I?" Pete held his hand out.

Lana gave it to him. "He mixed his genes with Clark's and implanted the embryo in me, Pete. Just when I thought I couldn't hate him more, I find something like this and-- _God,_ I let him _touch_ me!"

Lois stomped in from the balcony. "He's dead. Fuck, I need a smoke. I'm going to kill him."

"Get in line."

"I'm a better shot." Lois dragged her hands through her hair. "I'll shoot his balls. You can shoot him in the head."

"It's a much bigger target than his heart; I couldn't possibly miss. Excuse me, I need some air."

Pete followed her outside but she knew he would. Good old Pete. Dependable, honest Pete. Sometimes Lana wondered if she didn't marry him because he was Lex's opposite.

"Of all of us, you were the only one who never trusted him even for a second," Lana said. "We should have followed your lead."

He leaned against the balustrade and stared out into the dark cobbled streets and the Neo-classic architecture. "I don't know. When I look back, I wonder if maybe we pushed him in this direction in a way. Bizarre obsession with Clark notwithstanding, he did his best to do good."

"Too bad his goodness is relative. He was good for a Luthor. Blood will always tell."

"Is that what you're going to tell Conner?"

Lana stared at him, shocked.

"That's why he ran," said Pete. "None of us like Luthor and I bet Chloe wasn't a big fan either. Imagine finding out that a man who'd casually play with life and death was one of your biological parents. Worse, that the man probably killed your mom."

"I... didn't think of that."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks." Pete winked.

Lana hugged herself. "That's exactly why they pay you the big bucks. I can't believe that didn't even occur to me. I'm a horrible person; why did you even marry me?"

"You were home," he said simply. "We were lonely. Too much champagne. It made good business sense."

"Neither one of us wanted romance any more," she translated.

"Truth."

She joined him in looking out into the city. "And Josette? Is she romance?"

Growling, Pete pressed his fist against his forehead.

"I just want to understand why every man I fall in love with betrays me."

"Because you never give anything up!" Pete blurted out. "You push and push and push but you never give anything in return."

"Faithfulness is nothing?" Lana blasted back. "Caring for our children? Paying for your goddamn masters degree so you could get this position and afford a mistress--"

"Honesty! You could have told me about Conner."

"I couldn't endanger him or Chloe."

"You could have even told me about a 'miscarriage' just like you told Lex. You could have told me that you had Swiss account where you were squirreling away money in case... what? In case _I_ turned out to be an amoral psychopath? Or an alien?"

"You wanted everything from me!" Lana cried out. "I can't give anyone everything; it's impossible. It isn't even right."

In a softer tone, Pete said, "I didn't want everything, Lana. I just wanted more than the crumbs you deigned to throw my way."

"That's so typical. 'My wife is a cold bitch so I had to turn to another woman.' You can be more creative than that, Consul Ross." She turned away. She wasn't going to sniffle dammit. She had to show a strong front; Lana Lang wasn't that helpless damsel any more, hadn't been for over ten years.

"I didn't expect to be the love of your life but I at least wanted some modicum of trust. You want to know why everyone leaves you? Because you're never really with us. You want everything we have but you balk when we try to be a part of you."

"That's just... you're just--"

"You did it with Clark," Pete continued as though she hadn't spoken. "You did it with Jason Teague. You probably did it with Lex and you sure as hell did it with me. Lana, I love you, I do. But I can't be husband to a woman who doesn't want to be my wife."

Lana didn't know how to answer that. Pete obviously didn't want to wait for one; after a couple minutes, he headed for the door back inside the apartment, head down, hands in his pockets. Tears trailed down the corners of her nose and salted her lips.

"I gave you as much as I knew how," she said quietly.

His footsteps paused.

"I gave you more than I've given anyone, even Aunt Nell. Almost as much as the girls. And I'd hoped... I'd hoped it was enough."

The door clicked shut. Lana continued to stifle her sobs.

* * *

Conner ran out of energy in a vineyard in Alsace, dragging air into his lungs in powerful inhalations that shook leaves within a two-foot radius.

Casually, Clark landed in front on him. He crossed his arms, his hands in fists to keep from reaching out. At his age, Conner wouldn't want to be hugged especially not by a heretofore absent father. But, God, he was just so... perfect. That sounded egotistical considering how alike they looked but everything from the petulant angle of his jaw to the stubborn cowlick on top of his head to the ragged size 13 Keds was perfect. He could imagine soothing him as a baby, tugging on his hand the first day of classes, setting him on a bike on Christmas morning.

What came out was: "Be careful not to shake the grapes off. Sometimes even that little bit can turn the year's wine off."

"Not only do you rescue kittens and prevent nuclear war, you're also a wine expert," said Conner. "What _can't_ you do?"

"I couldn't fly at your age," said Clark.

"That wasn't flying. That was a really long jump."

"I still couldn't do it." Licking his lips, Clark admitted, "I was afraid of heights."

Conner snorted. "Sure you were."

"I hyperventilated in glass elevators. I didn't ride on a plane until I mastered flying and even now I don't trust those tin cans."

"Dude, you can _fly_!"

"So can you."

But Conner didn't seem to hear him. "You can fly. You can shoot fire from your eyes. You can whistle up a blizzard and bench-press Mars and chew on bullets for breakfast but you couldn't save one woman from a mugging?"

The bottom dropped out of Clark's stomach. Conner didn't give him time to come up with a reply.

"I hate you!" he screamed, letting fly a punch that threw Clark past the distillery. He crashed into a car, crunching its trunk like a grape.

Leaping the forty-foot distance, Conner landed with his fists going wild. Clark blocked them, not fighting back.

"All your powers, all your friends, all your stupid, _stupid_ crystals and you couldn't save her!" Moisture-- tears, he realised-- dropped on his cheeks. Conner's tears. "She was your best friend and you couldn't save her. You fucker!"

"Conner." Snapping hand around each of Conner's wrists, Clark pushed him away far enough to minimize the damage.

"I hate you! I _hate_ you! Fucking Superman. Fucking uniform with the stupid fucking crest and that stupid fucking cape. Wasn't she important enough? Why couldn't you save her?" Conner's face crumpled. "Why couldn't you... why... why couldn't I..."

Clark hauled the boy into his arms. Conner fought but nothing he did could hurt more than his words. He ached for him, for his son.

"I hate you," This time, Clark's shirt muffled the words. He hadn't stopped punching but there was no heat behind it.

"It's okay," said Clark. "Hate me. Hate me all you want, Conner. I'd rather you hate me than hate yourself."

There was a pause in Conner's half-hearted assault so Clark continued. "You're right; I have no little number of gifts, contacts and technology but I still couldn't save her. If I couldn't save her, how could you?"

Conner's breath caught. Framing his face firmly between two hands, Clark looked into his eyes and willed him to hear the words.

"None of this is your fault." Conner tried to protest but Clark shook him lightly. "It's. Not. Your. Fault."

"All my powers and there was nothing I could do. What good is any of it?" Conner's voice cracked in the last few words.

This boy broke his heart. He was going to have to pick up the pieces all over Europe. "If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't feel the need to fly around in this suit," Clark said honestly.

"Do you think... never mind." Conner scuffed the sandy soil with his boot.

Clark thought he could guess what was going on through the boy's head. "I think you're your own person. You're not a copy of me or Luthor."

"I know_that_. It's kind of basic genetics."

"Oh. Uh, okay. So... what are you worried about?"

He took so long to answer that Clark asked the question again. Conner didn't look up when he spoke. "Do you think Mom knew? About the Luthor genes?"

Clark chose his reply carefully. "I don't think your genetic make-up mattered to her. Chloe's always been open and accepting. She saw into the heart of people not the unimportant surface details. You were-- you _are_-- her son, no matter what." _As you are mine,_ he wanted to add but that might be too affectionate for a teenager to believe right now. Instead, he placed a hand on Conner's shoulder and side by side, they walked back to the safe-house.

* * *

The sun had stained the sky orange by the time Clark and Conner returned. Lois already had a bottle of Zesti soda chilling in the fridge and had threatened Green Arrow with painful death unless he found a pizza made to her specifications. But Conner only nibbled at two slices of pizza and barely drank half of the soda before heading for bed.

Clark puttered around the kitchen, a nervous habit. "Where are Pete and Lana?"

"Lana's in their room. Pete's bunked down with Green Arrow in the surveillance room. Don't ask. I tried so hard not to listen in. Do you think I ordered the right kind of pizza? I thought he said he liked supreme with extra cheese and jalapenos but I could have been wrong; he barely touched it. Who ever heard of a fourteen-year-old boy who couldn't finish a medium-sized pizza? Unless they're sick. He _was_ throwing up. Maybe I should check--"

Clark grabbed her hand. "Lois."

She remembered to take a breath. "What?"

He kissed her, a peck at the corner of her mouth so soft, she barely felt it. Clark almost always treated her like a tiny, delicate, gossamer thing, always careful, always mindful even when she needed it to be hard, fast and mindless. In the beginning of their romantic relationship, it drove her nuts-- she'd worked for years to prove she was as tough as the boys-- but she'd learned to appreciate it.

"I love you," he whispered into the arch of her neck. "I love you," he repeated after dipping his tongue into the hollow over her collarbones. "I love you," he said once more, pulling her flush against his body.

They half-stumbled, half-floated into their bedroom. Lois had Clark's shirt unbuttoned at the door. She pushed the sleeves down his arms, tracing the furrows shaped by his muscles; she'd never get tired of the feel of him. The microscopic scale-like units of his skin could be mistaken as goosebumps, but were so smooth, almost glassy, that stroking him was akin to stroking burnished marble.

He pulled her shirt over her head, his mouth following the hemline from the bump of fat under her belly button that she could never get rid of and up around the lines of her abdominals. Tongue, fingers and lips traced her ribs. Lois giggled.

"You know I'm ticklish there," she said, pinching his hip on the way down to cupping that lovely, rock-hard bum of his.

Clark smiled up at her. "I love to hear you laugh."

God, she was absolutely nuts about this man. Instead of unbuttoning his pants, Lois ground her knuckles into his stomach, eliciting a surprised gasp of laughter and when he bent double, she attacked his armpits. In retaliation, Clark tickled her knees and thighs. They collapsed half-on the bed, snorting and chortling. Laughter turned into soft moans and, on Lois' part anyway, whispered endearments that she could never say outside the bedroom.

Unlike most men in her experience, Clark didn't need to have sex. He'd be the first to admit that Lois had a bigger libido. She chalked it up to Kryptonian physiology which had done away with sex and pregnancy for a million years following the institution of external birthing matrices. So while she actually felt vicious cravings to jump his bones at least twice a week, he was content to cuddle and kiss. Bless him and his super-human recovery time, the nights she wanted debauchery, he did more than keep up. But when he initiated sex, it was usually as a coping mechanism, a desire to enforce his humanity, a source of comfort or a way to forget. So if he wanted soft and gentle, she'd give him soft and gentle and if he wanted to fuck her against the shower tiles, she'd hang on to his shoulders and ride him out.

Tonight he looked like he needed soft and gentle. Lois slid off his lap, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. Clark watched, hands on his knees, fingers trembling. Unzipping her jeans, she turned around, legs crossed at the ankles and pulled her jeans down without bending her knees. _Thank you, pole-dancing aerobics_. Dressed only her panties, she sauntered back to the bed.

Straddling his thighs, she made quick work of the rest of his pants buttons. He obliged her by lifting his hips up when she tugged. She slid it and his briefs to his thighs; he kicked them off the rest of the way. Arms braced on either side of him, she slid slowly up his thighs until she cradled his erection between her thighs parallel to her slit, her breasts skimming his torso. Her nipples hardened from the texture of his skin-- fuck, she loved his skin-- and the expression on his face, like she was everything he ever wanted and he didn't know if he wanted to devour her whole or nibble at her to savour her flavour.

He placed a hand in the small of her back; she rocked her hips back and forth. His other hand cupped one of her breasts, his eyes half-closed as he teased her nipple with his thumb. Heat came off him in a palpable aura; she was drenched in sweat because of him and her own excitement. Leaning back slightly, she wrote "I L-U-V U" on his right pectoral, over his heart, in big capital letters.

"It's spelled I L-O-V-E Y-O-U, Lane."

Lois punched him. "Brat."

Clark caught her hand and kissed each knuckle. Wrapping his arms around her, he sat up and floated down to the floor.

"Blankets," she reminded him. He reached behind and dragged the entire mattress down. When they weren't at home on their own bed with its enforced, heavy-duty frame, they had sex on the floor. Too many blushing explanations to hotel managers about bedframes cracked in half.

She stretched, gripping the end of the mattress as she wriggled out of her panties. Clark homed in on her clit, smart boy, licking her in long strokes even as his thumbs made the same lazy lines in the crease of her thighs making her oh so happy to be a woman because only women could ride endless waves of full body shudders like this. Her heels came up off the mattress; he hooked her legs over his shoulders and kept on teasing her. Then he slipped two fingers inside, blowing against her until the heat of his hands with the iciness of his breath became too damn much and Lois had to bite down on a mouthful of blanket to mute the deep belly moan that he dragged out of her.

He didn't let up, winding her tight and making her come twice more before finally entering her. By then, she was kind of sore from the tension and from keeping her legs spread-eagle so she crossed them around his waist as he thrust in and out, one hand fondling the underside of her breast, his lips silently moving to a mantra that he'd developed so that he wouldn't lose control and crush her pelvis when he reached his own climax.

She cupped his head, trailing kisses on his face and neck and chest, tasting her own sweat on his skin. He smelled like ozone and Old Spice and when she bit down on his nipples, he jerked and momentarily lost track of his mantra which was exactly why she loved to do it. He was getting closer; she could tell by the way air whistled between his clenched teeth and how he'd released her breast in case he hurt her. He hadn't since they first became lovers but that was Clark for you. He took everyone's pain personally.

A strangled syllable burst from his mouth. He arched back, hands, knees and the balls of his feet buried hard enough into the mattress that Lois was sure the springs would break on this set. She watched him come, her beautiful, beautiful Clark, one in a million, and her sinuses stung. Only he could make her emotional like this. She cradled his head in her arms when he came down, still shaking, and kissed his temple, his cheek, the tip of his nose.

"Do you want to have kids?" she found herself blurting out.

Clark made a noise best rendered as "Bzuh?"

She knew it wasn't fair to unload this on him post-coitally but now that the idea took hold, her mouth ran away with her. "I know you farm boys want a dozen kids and I know we agreed not to have any at all but I know the way you look at Conner and I know the whole 'Last Son of Krypton' thing's been getting to you in your old age so maybe if you really want to we could try for a kid but only for a year and only one. Two on the outside."

"Errrnh..."

"Then there's the whole biological clock ticking and with our luck, we probably won't even have kids or maybe I'll have a freakish kryptonite-induced ovulation and pop out half a dozen little of flying babies. Oh my _God_, Clark, how are we going to deal with flying babies!" Lois sat up or at least tried to but Clark, dumbfounded, didn't move off her.

"I... don't know?"

"I'm going to have to take that anchor job on TV and you know I hate being on TV but I guess it pays for enough groceries for a teenager and six flying babies. And we'll have to get a house. We just renovated the bathroom. I love our bathroom."

"Then keep the bathroom--" Clark shook his head. "I can't believe I'm trying to follow your logic."

"We have to plan! You could be so frickin' virile, you can impregnate me through two forms of birth control. What do we know about physical Kryptonian sex? Nothing. None! Wait, did Lana say she was pregnant for twelve_months_? I don't like pickles _that_ much!"

Clark held her still simply by flattening her down into the mattress. "You're babbling."

"I know." The panic faded, leaving her with a hollow sort of nervousness. "But serious, Smallville. Do you want kids? It'll be hard work but if you want one, we could try. I know it was more really _me_ saying we couldn't have kids and you agreeing but in this one case?"

He kissed her sweetly. "Thank you. I don't know what I want. I agree with all the reasons why we shouldn't have kids but..."

"Conner?"

He kissed her again.

"Or maybe_your_ biological clock is ticking."

Laughing, he pinned her down in a headlock. "You are really something, Lane."


	6. Chapter 6

Morning came with a fresh surge of energy. Conner seemed to have thrown off his melancholy with the usual resilience of the young. Whatever kind of war stories Green Arrow shared with Pete did its job; he came in without the usual lines on his forehead and around his mouth. Even Lana came out with a smile although it didn't reach her eyes.

Lois torpedoed into the room as she always did, hair shaggily twisted up into a bun in a way that indicated business mode. "We have enough to write a new article. I just need… Clark, where did I put--"

"Side pocket." He was already pulling his own laptop out, mentally reviewing the editors to be trusted with this type of piece. Perry would print it, of course, but it needed to get out. "Foreman?"

"Yes. Charbonneau at the… the…" She snapped her fingers.

The French paper, L'Observateur. "Of course. Except she hates you."

"She hates everyone who-- oh! Belgium! But first, toast."

"You're both nuts," Conner commented, his head volleying between the two.

"We have a process," said Clark. "I outline the piece, concentrating on the positioning the actual facts while she begins the s highly emotional editorial sections from memory--"

"The general public is too illiterate for facts," Lois interjected.

"--which become introductions, conclusions or split apart depending on the character of the article. When Lois runs out of juice, I come in to edit the material with factual notes so people know we're not pulling this out of--."

"Our asses."

"--thin air."

"Then we bicker and yell and throw plastic objects at each other."

"Once you threw a trophy."

"It was still plastic."

"The base wasn't."

They would have gone on squabbling if Green Arrow hadn't dived between them. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the Smallville Torch sticker on Lana's hard drive.

"That's the logo for our high school paper," said Clark.

"Chloe Sullivan sent that drive? With the sticker?"

"Yeah. That's how we knew it was important."

"I've seen that before," said Green Arrow. "Someone sent me fanmail with that on the postcard. It had an SD card with pictures and I couldn't figure out why this person would send me random JPEGS of an apartment."

"What did the apartment look like?" asked Lois.

"Cork flooring, two bedroom, standard British fare but there's a rabid banana tree in one corner."

"That's our apartment!" Conner said.

Lois' eyes went wide. "You mean you had it all this time? A crucial piece in this whole mess and you had it all this time?"

"She disguised it as fanmail," said Green Arrow. "Do you know how much fanmail we get every week? I left it for the newbies to scan and discard; we're lucky it ended up in the non-urgent pile as opposed to the trash."

"You get fanmail? Cool!" Conner held up devil's horns.

"Not helping," Clark said quietly. His expression was enough to subdue the boy. "Do you still have it?"

"Yeah, it should be in the trophy room somewhere. I just received it... last week." Green Arrow slapped his forehead. "The longer I do this, the more I wonder how many brain cells I've lost to concussions. Excuse me." Turning, he called the Watchtower.

Pete brought the coffee pot over with a tray of mugs. "So this is really happening. We're going to try to charge the president with crimes against humanity. We're talking the same guy who actually proposed a moratorium on fossil fuel use last Senate."

Lois grinned wolfishly. "We are going to screw his ass to the ground. I've always wanted to do something like this; the fact that it's Luthor just sweetens the pot. To hell with a Pulitzer; I'm doing this one for free."

"I'm not caught up," Lana said. "Did we find anything solid?"

"Just more information on the actual experiment and bribery documentation," said Clark. "He can easily say that he didn't know about it though. What we need is hard evidence that he was in contact with Prometheus about the experiment."

Green Arrow re-entered the room. "Grace is uploading the pictures to our laptop as we speak."

"Tell them to run an image through a stenographic decoder," Lois said. "We did a piece on it last year. Chloe mentioned she followed the articles we did together so she could have embedded text within the images on the SD card."

"I hope for your sakes that this is the kind of information you need. Careers have been ruined with less."

"What I don't get is why Chloe sent the information to you," Lana said.

Clark answered that one. "Once upon a time when we played at being a league, Chloe's call-sign _was_ Watchtower. She didn't just send it to Green Arrow; she sent it to the one place she knew Luthor couldn't reach."

"I wish I'd thought of putting her on payroll. Can you imagine how much smoother every mission would be if we had a central brain to manage everything?" Green Arrow said.

Pete half-stood, waving a file. The others whipped around to listen. "I found something in my set boxes. This is an outline of Project PrimeX3. It uses gene therapy as a way to introduce pseudo-kryptonian powers to the recipients. The proposed experimental group is in Yuacic. Luthor's been pushing me to allow Prometheus charitable access there. Sonnuvabitch."

"He wants to sell armies of Supermen. And Superwomen. Superpersons." Lois shook her head, at a loss. "He just won't let up. Can you imagine how much more money he'd make selling this drug on the black market, not to mention the type of arms race that it could spawn?"

"Forget the arms race. What about the actual wars? The Army of Heavenly Liberation has headquarters just over the border from Yuacic, hip-deep in genocide. If they get these drugs, it'll make Rwanda look like bitchslaps."

"If AHL wants it, then the Vipers in North Africa will also want it and from there, it'll be an open port to any arms dealer and ganglord in the world. Shit." Lois rubbed her eyes. "As if we don't have enough problems with meta villains in the States."

"I don't think he wants to sell the drug," said Clark. "I think he wants to _own_ the actual army. He's tried the meta route before, remember? It always took too much out of him. But if he had an army he could control, an army of metas loyal only to him, then throw in the billions in his bank accounts, what do you have?"

The whole room silenced.

"This is all moot without proof that Luthor had direct involvement in all of this," Lana said. "Otherwise, he'll just deny knowledge and rely on people's amazing ability not to care what goes on in other countries to non-white people."

Lois arched her eyebrows. "You're getting cynical in your old age, Lana."

The other woman acknowledged the statement with a nod.

"I have the images," Green Arrow announced. He held up a thumb drive. "You were right about the embedded information but it's not text, it was another image layer."

"Of?"

"Soundwaves, the printout from an oscilloscope. Tempest recognized it as soon as it came through the decoder."

Clark's stomach twisted in excitement. "Soundwaves of what?"

"I knew you'd ask that so Tempest also ran it through the computer." Green Arrow inserted the thumb drive into a laptop port.

A nasal East Coast accent came through the speakers. "-- phase is going well. We think another two doses and this batch will start showing visible manifestations of powers."

"Good." Luthor's voice was unmistakable. "Your cover still holds?"

"Everything here goes for a bribe. You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Luthor."

"I told you never to use names!"

"My apologies, sir. I was just so excited about the development--"

"Don't count your chickens until they hatch, doctor. Now tell me, have any of the subjects manifested the full range of powers?"

"No, the most we've gotten is two and even then each one is at half the strength of a single manifestation, that is, quarter-strength of the genetic source. The human body just isn't made to withstand this type of power."

"Then you'll have to create a human that can."

The sound file cut abruptly. Clark released the breath he'd been holding. "We have him."

* * *

The Metropolis Daily Planet devoted five pages to the story, including the front page. Within minutes, the Associated Press took and circulated it through all its newspapers around the United States. Twenty-six hours later, the gag-orders began but it had already spread to the World Press. "Chloe Sullivan with Lois Lane and Clark Kent" was splashed on every headline between the UK Guardian to the Herald Sun in Australia.

When Pete left his and Lana's room-- they'd agreed to sleep in the same room to make detail easier for Green Arrow and Black Canary-- Lois and Clark were going through online papers.

"Luthor: Environmentalist or Mad Scientist?" Clark clicked on another link. "US Pres. Luthor suspected of human testing. Germany's headline is 'US Senate compliant to testing?'"

"Christmas has come early. We can finally go home to our apartment." said Lois. She flopped onto the couch.

Lana handed him a cup of coffee which Pete accepted. They made sure not to touch. "We can finally see the girls," she said.

"There's still the matter of Conner." Clark nodded to the last closed door where the boy slept.

Lois looked at him blankly.

"Where is he going to stay?"

"With us, of course! Geez, Smallville, you're getting senile in your old age."

"I want him to, more than anything but we don't even know if he wants to live with us."

"He's _not_ staying in boarding school. Do you remember what happens to kids in boarding schools? Item one: my sister. Item two: Luthor. Item three: Ollie."

"What's wrong with Ollie?"

"Malfunctioning zipper. No." Lois marked her intent with a sharp gesture. "He's coming home with us."

"What about the bathroom?"

"What _about_ the bathroo--" She glared. "You're _mean_."

Their bantering hurt. Pete actually felt pain under his ribs at the sight. They were so damn happy. He was happy that his best friend was happy but with his own marriage falling apart and... when the divorce came through, who knew where the girls would end up? He and Lana both had good cases for custody; a legal battle was inevitable. The spectre of his parents' divorce still haunted him. He wouldn't wish that on his girls for the world.

He turned to the refrigerator. "When in stress, eat" had always been the Ross family motto. He'd gained fifteen pounds in the last two months alone. With his head stuck in the fridge, he didn't notice Black Canary enter until she spoke.

"You have to get out," she said. "GA's out there holding back a dozen metas back. Someone found us."

"How?" asked Lana.

"They look like Luthor's pseudo-metas. I'm willing to bet at least one of them can see through walls and another has excellent hearing. Now come on!" She yanked Lana forward.

Pete followed then paused to glance behind. "Where's Clark and Lois?"

Black Canary dismissed them. "They're being taken care of! Down to the basement, quick. We've got an escape route."

The escape route was a leaky tunnel into a building a block down. The exit led to the street directly in front of a compact car. Black Canary remote-started the engine, keeping a wary eye out as he and Lana scurried in.

"There's s scarf for you," she tilted her chin at Lana, "and a hat for you. Put them on and don't look around. We're going to drive like apathetic neighbours."

"What about our girls?" Lana asked.

"I'm sure they're well cared for. I know it's tough but right now, I need to concentrate on you and you two need to concentrate on following me, got it?" Without waiting for an answer, she activated her comme-link. "Outsider, this is Justice-1, what's your status?"

"Fine and dandy, Justice-1," replied the voice on the other end. Pete recognized the speaker as Arsenal, the red-head who'd taken the girls to their safe-house.

"Good to hear that, Outsider. Our own position has been compromised. I have Units 1 and 2. Green Arrow stayed behind to guard the two other units and Superman's en route. Be on high alert."

"Copy that, BC. Do you need a pick up?"

"Please and thank you. Preferably something armed."

"I'll see what the locals have cooked up. Over and out."

Black Canary flashed Pete a grin. "You'll be back in style before you kno--"

The street before them exploded in flames.

* * *

Clark changed into Superman as soon as Black Canary had Pete and Lana out the door. "Get Conner!" he told Lois but she was already on it, banging on the boy's door.

A dishevelled Conner stuck his head out. "What?"

"Duck." Superman shielded them with his body as a van crashed through the outside wall. "Let's out of here. Hold on and don't wiggle." He took Lois in one arm, Conner in the other and flew through the apartment's new exit.

"Supes, you're missing all the fun" Green Arrow shouted through the comme-link.

"I'll be right there." Javelin-1 was cloaked on a roof several blocks away. He flew to the roof and disengaged the cloaking device. The dark grey jet slowly coalesced into the visual spectrum. "Ms. Lane, I believe you know about the autopilot function."

"Sure thing."

"Then I suggest you and Mr. Sullivan make for the hills."

"I can fight!" Conner protested. "I helped you with--"

Superman put a finger to his lips. "Not today."

"But there's only the two of you and a frillion of them. You need help."

"And we'll get it." He floated back down so he could meet the boy's eyes straight on. "I can't fight and worry about you at the same time. That's the same reason I'm sending Kent and Lane away. But I know that if anything _does_ happen, you can take care of them, right?"

Conner shrugged his hand off. "That's the kind of bullshit you tell kids in Disney movies."

Superman looked to Lois for help but she couldn't offer anything but a sigh. "Buckle up, Junior," she said.

"But Aunt Lois--"

He blocked the rest of the argument as to the sky once more. The pseudo-metas had Green Arrow surrounded where he perched on a second-floor roof. Two pseudos bashed their fists against the building, hoping to collapse it. Another fired heat rays which Green Arrow dodged with lessening degrees of accuracy. A third pseudo lay motionless on the ground. Superman took a deep breath and blew. The one with heat vision and the one with super strength were blasted away immediately. When the third pseudo, a strong man saw his partner fly off, he pounded his hands elbow-deep into the street, sticking fast.

"I had them until you showed up," said Green Arrow jovially as Superman picked him up.

"Are you certain?"

"Oh yeah. Had them cowering. There were six others; did you see them?"

"Negative. Use non-lethal force; we don't know if they've been coerced into attacking or not."

"Non-lethal force. Right." Green Arrow shot charged arrows at the strongman with little effect. "I shouldn't've made this into a democratic league."

"But think of all the paperwork you'd be missing out."

"Bite me, Blue."

Just then, a street ten blocks off burst into flames. Superman heard Pete's strangled shout.

Green Arrow swore. "Tell me that's not them."

Superman didn't say a word.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

The remaining pseudos had the inverted car surrounded. Three heart beats still sounded from within, thank God, but one was thready. As Superman and Green Arrow landed, one of the heartbeats sped up.

"Canary!" Green Arrow shouted, shooting arrows two at a time as he ran for the vehicle. "If you don't answer me, you over-grown chicken, I'm going to fire you!"

Three pseudos turned to him. Two of them rushed him, their feet denting the street, as the third let loose with her heat vision. The heat didn't faze Superman but the strongmen might do damage. They each had half his strength so together, they could put up a good fight. Superman waited until the last second then dodged the blows by flying straight up. Something ploughed into his back, leaving a bit of heat. He glimpsed a flying pseudo armed with a bazooka. Re-gaining his equilibrium, he turned and went for the flier. It was a short chase; the pseudo didn't have full control of his flying powers and didn't reach top speed before Superman grabbed the bazooka out of his hands and snapped it in half. With a tap on the head, the man was unconscious. Superman caught him and deposited him on the roof.

Two heat-vision pseudos were trying to make short work of the car. Green Arrow was close but had his hands full hand-fighting another pair, one with superbreath if the icicles on GA's goatee could be believed, and one of the strongmen. Superman lunged down and picked the pseudos up by their belts, knocking their heads together while in mid-air. Another two down and on the rooftops. He landed hard on a pseudo, putting his tally up to four.

"Cover your ears, Superman." Black Canary warned him through the comme-link, her voice imbued with forced energy.

He clapped his hands over his ears. Even then, her sonic scream made him wince with its strength. Glass shattered, brick crumbled and the remaining two pseudos dropped to the ground.

Green Arrow got up from his crouch. "You didn't get the memo about non-lethal force so you're not fired," he told Black Canary.

"One day I'm going to quit. I keep losing good pairs of hose in this job."

"How are Pete and Lana?" asked Superman.

"Unconscious but breathing," she replied. "We should get them to the hospital."

Superman picked one of the strongmen up and blew in his face. The blast of cold air revived him. "Are you from Yuacic?" When the man didn't answer, he repeated the question in French then Yoruba. The pseudo didn't reply but a light of understanding widened his eyes. "Why are you working for Luthor?" Superman continued in the last language. "Whatever he's given you could endanger your lives. Gene therapy is not only temporary but your bodies are not suited to such powers. It will wear down. It might even kill you."

"He told us this when we began but working together, we are invincible," said the pseudo. "Prometheus has done many great things for our country and they promised if we helped defeat the Justice League, we would be put in its place with the same salaries and benefits. Our families would be taken care of."

When Superman translated, Green Arrow made a disbelieving noise. "I've never heard of a single promise that Luthor's kept. We're volunteers."

Translating that fired the pseudo up more. "You lie. Why else would you do this if it did not benefit you or your family?"

"I do it because it's right," Superman said softly. "I'm sorry you're hurt but I can't let you continue with your mission." He switched to English. "Black Canary and Green Arrow, do you mind taking your units to the hospital?"

"What'll you do?" Green Arrow asked.

His jaw set, Superman answered, "I'm taking this straight to Luthor."

His teammates laughed at that. "Not without us, you aren't."

* * *

It was a sight that would rock the world. The "Big Nine" of the Justice League descended on the White House in loose battle formation with Superman at the head, Green Arrow and Wonder Woman on either side while Impulse, Martian Manhunter, Black Canary, Hawkgirl and Green Lantern filled out the rest of the formation. Batman trailed behind like a shadow, watching their backs.

The dumfounded guards didn't move, not even with Secret Service scrambling to intercept.

One of the suits stood his ground. "You have ignored our orders to stand down, Justice League, We have no choice but to consider this a hostile manoeuvre--"

Impulse snorted. "Buddy, you haven't seen hostile yet."

"Impulse." The other man quieted at Superman's curt admonishment. To the Secret Service agent, he said, "We're here to arrest Lex Luthor. He will be taken to a holding cell in Geneva where he will await trial before the United Nations for unethical experiments on the people of Yuacic using funds from his political campaign which itself is implicated in a number of improper legal practices. Furthermore, he stands accused of ordering the murder of Chloe Sullivan and attempted murder of Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Peter Ross, Lana Lang-Ross and three minors under their care. If he does not peacefully come into custody, we have no choice but to take him by force."

Batman appeared behind the agent. "Please. Give me a reason to use force."

Two of the glass doors opened. Luthor stepped out. "Gentlemen, there's no need for muscle. I'm right here." He opened his arms wide.

At that moment, the metas burst out of every shrub, tree, and wall in the garden. The Justice League tightened into full battle formation-- fliers took to the sky while the land-locked paired up, back to back.

"Luthor's mine!" Superman called out.

"Race you," said Green Arrow. He nocked an arrow into his bow. Then lowered it. "Supes. Extremely large problem."

"What?"

"Is that a remote detonator in his hand?"

Superman focussed. "He's insane." Turning to the White House, he scanned the entire building through. "There are too many possibilities in there-- two lead-lined boxes and three that aren't but have suspicious contents."

"Impulse."

"On it!" Impulse disappeared in a streak of red into the building.

"The pseudo-metas are dispersing," said Hawkgirl. "Green Lantern and I will follow."

"Aquaman just called in from California. He said there are pseudos popping up there, too," Black Canary reported. "Vixen called from Morocco with the same-- Christ, now Grace is freaking out in Tokyo. Is anyone else getting this feed?"

"Justice League, pair up and assist where needed." Superman ordered. "Call in whatever reinforcements you can."

"I'll hail police enforcement." Batman disappeared into his car. Within moments, the rest of the Justice League had gone to their assignments.

"I've lost Luthor, dammit!" Green Arrow said, running into the White House. "Supes, I need your eyes!"

He floated above the building, scanning each level. "The East Wing. He's going to his personal quarters. I'll meet you there."

* * *

The Javelin-1 was over American airspace when the first pseudo hit. Lois clutched her seatbelt. Conner yelped.

"What the fuck was that?"

She looked at the instruments. "We've been hit."

"Hit? I thought this thing has cloaking."

"It doesn't cloak on autopilot; it takes up too much memory and besides it's dangerous to the rest of the air traffic. I'm going to take it out of auto and try to land."

Conner turned wide, wild eyes to her. "_Try_ to land?"

"I've flown before. Just not this particular model."

Another hit shook the plane. Lois looked out to see a pseudo clinging to the jet's wing. Savagely, she piloted the jet into a barrel-roll. "I think that shook him off."

Conner clenched his eyes closed. "I'm so glad I'm invulnerable."

"There's a clear patch right under us. I'm going to land there."

Half a thousand feet below them, stood the Washington Monument.

* * *

Superman arrived at the East Wing in time to catch Green Arrow who'd been thrown out of a top floor window. Cuts marred his arms and his shades were missing, revealing a bruise that covered half his face.

"Ow, my pancreas," he moaned dryly, letting his body go limp in Superman's arms. "For a bald little geek, he packs a punch."

"Luthor did this?"

"Yeah. Apparently, he's taken up a second career as a Transformer."

"What are you talking... about?" Superman's voice trailed off at the sight before him.

Luthor jumped out into the lawn encased in a metal exo-skeleton. One arm ended in a vise-like hand while the other shaped into the nozzle of a firearm. Green light pulsed from underneath the chest armour.

"Is that green light--"

"--Kryptonite?" Superman nodded curtly.

With a sigh, Green Arrow rolled to his feet. "You know the drill. Get the hell out of dodge while I take care of business."

Superman didn't move. "Do you know its weaknesses?"

"Sure. Luthor's driving it." Under his teammates stare, Green Arrow lifted both hands up in peace. "I have no idea but I figure I'll keep firing at it until something works." And he did just that, releasing three exploding arrow tips at Luthor in fast succession.

Luthor raised his gun arm and fired. A blast of green light disintegrated the arrows, detonating the explosives at a distance to far to do damage. Waves of radiation hit Superman, forcing him to stumble back. Every cell in his body wanted to fight but he knew that he'd be a liability with the kryptonite close by.

Superman turned and ran.

The farther away he got from Luthor's armour, the better he felt. He flew the last few feet to the doors of the building. "There are possible explosives in there. Evacuate this building!" he ordered the Secret Service agents who poured out in defense.

"Impossible," one agent shouted back.

He stopped two feet in front of them, hands face up. "Would you risk it?"

They looked at each other then at President Luthor in his armour fighting Green Arrow. They wisely withdrew.

* * *

The Javelin skidded into the reflection pool, shuddering so hard Lois was sure her teeth would fall out by the end. Not her best water landing. With the landing gear moaning and something vital-- probably one of the wings-- tearing up the lawn, the jet gave up all pretense of gravity-defying and flopped, lifeless, on the lawn at the base of the monument.

"My ears are ringing," said Conner.

Lois thought hers were as well. "No, actually those are the screaming tourists."

"Oh good. For a second there, I was worried."

They popped the pilot-side doors open. There were, indeed, screaming tourists but thankfully none under the jet. Overhead, choppers threatened to drown out the screams. A sound like thunder cracked the air.

Conner looked sharply around. "Those are missiles. Someone's shooting missiles in Washington, DC. What are you-- where did you get a gun?"

"I always carry one in my purse," Lois said primly. "Follow me."

* * *

Despite the chaos, the White House staff was extremely calm, probably as a result of countless drills. Superman was thankful for it; this would be much harder with severely anxious civilians. Nearly fifty people in all filed out of the doors and into the far end of the lawn. Luthor was no where in sight.

"What happened?" asked a senior-looking agent.

He didn't answer. _Where the heck is Green Arrow?_

Several yards away, an unmoving green and black lump lay on the lawn. Superman flew to his side. Green Arrow was face down and completely unconscious. Blisters marred half his face.

"Apparently, at a high enough intensity kryptonite can harm humans as well. Don't bother with him; this is our fight, isn't it?" A green beam scorched the earth beside Green Arrow. Superman's muscles cramped even as he rolled away. Luthor grinned, a ghastly sight through the helmet. "Christmas has come early."

Superman looked wildly around for help. "This is Superman. I've got GK here and Green Arrow is out of commission. I need assistance."

"This is Nightwing. I'm close-by, ETA seven minutes."

"Try to make it five," said Superman. Luthor fired a bolt of kryptonite radiation. "Heck, six is good, too. I try to be flexible."

Four bolts of radiation pulsed towards him. Superman dodged to one side then back, away from Luthor's exoskeleton. Flying was always the first to go with green kryptonite; he could feel the grav-fields but couldn't grasp them. Even without the use of the laser, the suit exuded enough waste radiation to affect him. He felt his strength slowly leaking away and wondered how long before Luthor recognized the signs.

Luthor drew closer. "Do you like the suit? I'm two months off schedule; I wanted to do this after the election whether I won or lost but as long as you're defeated, I'll consider this project a success." With his every step, the asphalt cracked.

He had to find a way to stall. Six minutes twenty seconds until Nightwing arrived. "You don't have to do this. You would have been given a fair trial for your crimes but this... The capital's falling down around you!""

"I have billions. I can rebuild and they'll love me."

"And your PrimeX3 experiments? I suppose they'll love you for that."

Luthor's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Do you know how most medical breakthroughs happened? By experimentation on live subjects. It's ugly but someone's got to do it for the benefit of all mankind."

"You can't really justify your so-called army with that."

"I'm giving everyone what they want! An unbeatable army, a cure for all sickness, prosperity, strength, security! They won't have to rely on a private company with... doubtful hidden agendas." Luthor shot off another bolt. This one came so close that Superman nearly gagged with pain. He staggered away. Grabbing a chunk of sidewalk, he spun around and pitched it as hard as he could at Luthor. It bounced off Luthor's helmet, leaving a large crack. Luthor glanced at it. "Now, you're stooping to throwing rocks?"

"I know I'm only the muscle in the League but I know better than to arm-wrestle you in that suit," said Superman. "With every shot you're missing, you're damaging buildings, hurting civilians. If you want to fight me, let's take it somewhere less populated."

Four minutes fifty-five seconds with Luthor only twenty feet away. How much kryptonite did that suit have to affect him like this at twenty feet?_Come on, Richard, make that crotch-rocket fly._ His joints ached, his vision blurred and he was pretty sure that if he didn't get at least seven feet away, he was going to vomit all over his boots.

"Trying to escape, Superman? You can't wheedle out of this one. For once, I'm going to win. For once, they're going to see you for exactly what you are!"

"They always have. You're the one who's been pretending. Since we met, you've been lying to me, to yourself. I don't think you even know what the truth is any more."

The punch came out of nowhere. One minute, he'd been scanning the roads aurally for the sound of Nightwing's motorcycle, the next, stars exploded in his head and he was flying through two office buildings and a parking lot. _So that's what being punched by Superman feels like_, he thought nonsensically. _Ouch_.

Before he could recover, Luthor was there again, delivering another punch. This one shot him through seven floors of car park and back out to the open air. He slammed a crater into the street. Air rushed out of his lungs and his muscles refused to draw in another one. Stiffly, he got up on his hands and knees. He only needed to stall for another four minutes three seconds. Goody.

The hiss-crackle of Luthor's suit reached his eats. Superman managed to dodge the first time Luthor stomped down but he couldn't escape the punch. A titanium fist smashed into his ribs, crushing him down into the street.

Crap.

It was the arm with the laser.

Luthor grinned. The nozzle cracked open, leaking a bit more radiation. It burned through Superman's skin. He felt it raising blisters, smelled his flesh burning even as weakness rippled through his veins and made every nerve scream. With effort, he managed to grab the nozzle with his hands. He pushed. Despite the tremors that rocked his body, he pushed.

"Why is it that all-powerful villains always have one tiny, minute weakness?" Luthor asked in a conversational tone. "The Death Star had that thermal exhaust port. Devilicus had his power gem. Superman has kryptonite." He opened the laser's aperture a bit wider.

Now the kryptonite ray was wide enough to feel like a drill boring into his flesh. His bones-- holy effing… his bones throbbed! Were bones supposed to throb? Grunting with the effort, Superman kicked out to change the angle of the pressure and maybe somehow find a point of imbalance. But the pain was right in front of his face, insistent, loud, fiery. He didn't know how humans dealt with sensation like this. Luthor was talking, monologuing. Clark wished he'd just shut up. His brain was on fire--

Then the weight was disappeared.

_Richard. Thank God._

"Dude, you do _not_ mess with Superman!"

His eyes snapped open. _No. No, no, nonono. Not Conner._

"Get away from here!" Superman yelled but either his voice was too weak or Conner ignored him. Probably the latter. On the far side of the parking lot, Luthor shoved a bright yellow Hummer off his chest; Conner must have tossed it in an effort to rescue him.

"Is that your sidekick, Superman?" Luthor chuckled. "Feeling our age, are we?"

He rose to his knees, shakily but at least he wasn't prone any more. His ribs protested as did his oxygen starved lungs. "Superboy, fall back."

"It's okay; I got your back, Big Blue."

"But he doesn't have yours?" Luthor pitched the Hummer back.

Conner ducked but the bumper still grazed his forehead. Now that they were level, Superman grabbed the boy's jacket collar and whispered, "That's an order. Get out of here."

"But you need--"

"Now, dammit!" He shoved Conner aside just in time to keep him from connecting with a minivan that Luthor had thrown. Instead, the van smacked his arm. His elbow turned inside out.

Roaring with outrage, Conner rocketed into Luthor, fists straight out like a battering ram. He actually managed to push the exoskeleton back several yards before Luthor dug his toes in. The armour dented but he stopped and in a smooth move that Conner couldn't have seen because he didn't have any training at all, Luthor had him by the neck.

"What did he tell you?" Luthor asked Conner. He shook the boy like an unwanted puppy. "Do you actually think that you're his friend? That he actually gives two shits about anyone but himself?"

Conner's uniform jacket belatedly registered in Superman's brain; the hood and shades hid his face, preventing Luthor from putting two and two together. Small mercies.

"Just watch. He'll take it all away, one lie at a time."

Dragging himself to the nearest post, Superman pulled himself up one-handed to his feet. "Let him go, Luthor. It's me you want, not him. He's just a kid."

Conner had the temerity to be affronted. "I'm not _just_ a kid."

"Yes, you are," said Superman. He caught Conner's gaze and held it. "You're just a kid who doesn't know any better. Go home." Before he could protest any more, Superman turned to Luthor. "I'll do whatever you want. Just let him go home."

Luthor's eyebrows arched behind his helmet. "Whatever I want?"

"Yes. Anything."

"Don't do it!" Conner cried out. "It's the oldest trick in the book. He'll-- urg-- break his promise and-- hurt you... anyway... let go my throat, you ass!" He struggled against Luthor's hold but the kryptonite must affect him too because he couldn't quite move as well. Sweat beaded down his forehead.

"Shut up, you little twit." Luthor batted Conner with the laser arm. Just before it connected, a three-headed talon hooked around Luthor's arm, winding a thin cable around the nozzle.

Nightwing landed soundlessly on top of a car. "Someone called the cavalry?" He yanked the wire; the initial surprise was enough to pull Luthor's arm back a bit but, recovering quickly, he pull back and dragged Nightwing to the ground. The younger man released the hook and rolled out of the fall to stand beside Superman.

"You couldn't've sounded a bugle?" asked Superman.

"Couldn't fit it on my bike."

"Two hundred and fifty-one things on your utility belt and you couldn't fit a bugle."

"The bossman has a utility belt; I get by on my dashing good looks and killer charm." Nightwing took stock of the situation. "Kryptonite-powered exoskeletal war-armour specifically created to take advantage of your every weakness. Have I told you our theory about Luthor's twisted man-crush on you as the source of his insanity?"

"After we get Superboy out of there, I'll be all ears."

"Leave Luthor to me. Every suit of armour has weak spots." He drew shiruken out of his belt.

Just then, Conner slumped, his arms and legs dangling lifeless.

Superman saw red. "God _damn_ you, Luthor!"

His eidetic memory registered five things happening at roughly the same time. Conner's sudden deadweight caused Luthor to shift his hold. Superman was already running, picking up a car along the way to bash into Luthor's skull. Conner's eyes snapped open and he used that bit of movement to slither out of the hold. Nightwing's shiruken sank into the control unit on the exoskeleton's arm, the arm that had once held Conner. Luthor lifted his laser arm, ignoring Conner for the greater prize that was Superman, and opened fire.

He didn't see what came after that. The bright green heat of kryptonite radiation scored his senses. He braced himself for agony. There was a scream but it wasn't his. Jeans and leather fell into his arms and Superman couldn't do anything but catch it. Catch Conner.

_Oh God, Conner._

"_Shit_! Oh shit, oh shit, it hurts, oh shit, it hurts, oh shit, shit, shit!"

The boy, _his_ boy was screaming, curling into foetal position, his hands clawed and his legs jerking with pain. His hood had blown off and his shades hung crookedly from one ear. His chest... God, he hadn't known there was this much blood in a body, human or kryptonian. The sugary-metallic smell of burning meat hit the back of his nose. Superman gagged even as he whipped his cape off.

"I have you, Con," he said. Holding the boy close with one hand, he covered the wound with the cape using the other hand. Blood soaked through immediately. "I have you, son."

"Dad?" he whimpered. "Clark... it... ohgodithurts."

"I know, I know, son, I know, just hold on, okay? Just be strong for a few seconds more."

"Dad." Feebly, Conner reached for him but he fell short, his hand brushing the hope sigil on the Superman costume instead. Then the rest of him fell, eyes rolled back, legs gone limp and his heart stopped.

His heart stopped.

There was screaming again, louder like an animal howling for death as Clark shot to the sun with his child in his arms.

Someone was screaming, howling like an animal hungry for blood. Lois didn't care what she sounded like or how dangerous it was; all she knew was that Luthor shot Conner and she was going to shoot him until his suit was as red as Conner's shirt, as Clark's shirt stained with Conner's blood, as red as her own broken heart.

Her Kimber 1911 weighed nothing in her hands as she ran across the road to where Luthor stood, partially immobilized by the damage Nightwing's shiruken inflicted. Nightwing was still on him, throwing more stars and dodging the normal old bullets from an auxiliary armoury. They didn't see her sneak up from behind.

Nightwing shorted one of the exoskeleton's legs. Luthor crashed to his knees. Lois jumped on top of him, still emptying her clip. Much better to shoot from this range; her tears ruined her aim.

He actually turned to her at one point, his eyes wide with surprise or fear. That was when she saw the crack in the helmet. She pressed the end of the Kimber against the crack and let loose with the remaining bullets. Red splashed against the glass from the inside.

Nightwing pulled her away then, shouting in her ear. Lois thought Luthor was still looking at her through his blood-stained helmet, wide-eyed. She hoped it was fear.


	7. Chapter 7

A parade of helicopters surrounded Star City General Hospital joined on the ground by a cavalcade of tanks. No one was getting into Conner's room. Ollie barely made it in and he owned the damn building. Reporters camped out in front of the buildings twenty rows deep. More of them wandered in the periphery, getting the "people's view" of the goings on.

Ollie straightened his cufflinks. An assistant whispered, "They're ready for you, Mr. Queen" and he stepped up to the podium. Camera flashes threatened to blind him. Time to put on a show. Staid, serious Oliver Queen had to explain what Superman and his young "friend" were doing in his hospital.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for coming. I am Oliver Queen, chairman of the board here at Star City General Hospital, and I am here to issue an official press statement on behalf of Superman and the Justice League. As you all know, Superboy is being treated in this hospital for severe trauma as a result of a high-powered laser wielded by former-President Alexander Luthor. His condition is critical and therefore Superman and the League would greatly appreciate their privacy during this time of personal crisis. They would like to thank everyone for their well-wishes so far which have constantly been a source of comfort. Thank you. That's all."

A dull roar of sound went up as reporters vied to ask questions.

"Is he Superman's son?"

"How old is Superboy?"

"Is it true that the League initiated the conflict and President Luthor only reacted in self-defence?"

"Can you comment on Lex Luthor's condition? They say it's highly unlikely that he'll ever wake up from--"

Ollie turned his back implacably on the crowd. "Get me in this building already."

"Sorry, Mr. Queen," said a military liaison as she squeezed through a line of Marines. "You did agree to the rules."

"I know and you're sticking to them," Ollie said. "I'm just glad I made the list of permitted visitors."

"Superman said since you've been so kind as to allow them to use your facilities, it was the least he could do."

"It was my pleasure." Ollie struck an avaricious pose. "Besides, can you imagine how much publicity this'll get?"

The liaison's expression flattened momentarily. For the rest of the way, she remained a distrustful five feet away. "Follow me please."

One of the palliative care rooms on the top floor had been adjusted as an intensive care unit. The main draws were the skylights which formed almost half the ceiling, drawing in the nearly constant California sun. There, the young man known to the world as Superboy, had been recovering from his wounds for the past five days.

The liaison stumbled as she entered, recovering only after tossing Ollie a glare. It wasn't easy to see an icon like Superman helpless. Human. He sat slumped beside the narrow hospital bed, arms crossed on the bed, Superboy's less intubated hand covered in his. Instead of his uniform, he wore a Renaissance-like robe, the same colour as his cape, which fell in heavy folds on the floor. His sigil was pinned discreetly at the neck.

"You, uh, look like hell, Superman," Ollie blurted out.

"Mr. Queen, sir," said the frustrated liaison. "Would you like me to stay?"

"That won't be necessary, thank you." Superman gathered the robe to stand but Ollie waved him down.

"Please, stay seated. I won't take up too much of your time."

At Superman's nod, the liaison left. She glared at Ollie one last time before the door closed.

"How is he?" asked Ollie as he approached the boy's bedside.

"Hanging in there." Superman smoothed a spike of black hair away from the boy's forehead. "I can see his organs knitting together at least. His heart beat is faint but more regular than yesterday."

"Good. That's a good sign, right?"

He nodded. "It's taking so long."

"Give it time. Most people would take several months to heal from those injuries, if at all, and he's gone far in a week."

"I know. I'm just... not used to the process."

Ollie nodded. "I can't even imagine."

For a few minutes, nothing but the monitor's beeping filled the room.

"Where's Lois?" Ollie asked.

"At work, what else?" Clark replied. "She's making excuses for me. The official story is that I haven't returned to the States yet since spending quality time with my long-lost son in England. When Con gets better, there'll be something about a car accident to explain his injuries and then..."

Seeing Superman falling to pieces was discomfiting. Clark Kent fell apart quite frequently and even plain old Clark from Smallville shed a tear now and again but Superman never did. He'd always been too strong for tears.

To cover his discomfort, Ollie blathered. "The good news is Lex is practically a vegetable. Only one of Lois' rounds got through his helmet but, man, did she ever make it count. His VP's much more open to working with the League. She wants to distance herself from Luthor, I guess. I don't blame her; who'd want to be on Superman's bad side, right? Especially since the entire world's fallen in love with you all over again. Olsen's picture really--"

He shut up in time. Clark wouldn't want to know details of Jimmy Olsen's picture. Hell, from what he heard around town, Olsen barely wanted to talk about his picture despite the accolades and awards beating down his door. Objectively, Ollie appreciated the artistry: Superman crouched to take off, Superboy held tight in his arms, his usually confident features twisted into horror, determination and sorrow all at once. They were already calling it the Kryptonian Pieta. Ollie hated the nickname; the story behind the Pieta didn't have a good ending. Above all, he wanted this to end well.

He placed a hand on Clark's shoulder and stood in vigil.

* * *

Lois visited two days later, flashing her press card cantankerously at everyone who dared block her way. With the expression on her face, those were few and far between.

"Did you see Ross and Lang's press statement?" she asked Clark as soon as she entered.

"I was just watching it. How was the hearing?"

"Magnificent. I thought the discreet bandage on Lana's forehead was very effective. She pulls off the big-eyed lost-soul look real well and Pete's testimony about Luthor's Yuacic requests was fantastically bullet-proof." She leaned over to check on Conner. He was a little less grey today but there were still far too many machines stuck in him. The fact that his body didn't resist the needles was worrying. "If there was any justice in the world, Lex Luthor would be in a maximum security prison, locked away in solitary except for the twice yearly ventures to the outside as Mo 'The Muscle' Hendrikson's prison bitch. Instead he's convalescing in a half decent prison hospital."

Clark closed his eyes. "Maybe we should rethink this home situation. If Lex gets out and discovers Conner's history--"

"Listen to me, Smallville. If by some miracle Luthor gets out of prison or continues his machinations from the inside, I will kill him. I will find people who will kill him. I will take his company away and give the billions to metas everywhere. I will hunt down his business partners and turn them into burger flippers. If he's dared to spawn any illegitimate maggots, I'll make them so sorry for the blood running through their veins that they'd rather eat a bullet than continue to live. I will make every single nanosecond of his pathetically short and petty life excruciatingly painful. And I will do it with a smile and do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Because where that kid is concerned, I'm not Lois Lane, the Star Reporter any more. I'm Lois Lane, the Mother. And I will do _anything_ to keep my son safe and if you give me some bullshit about being the better person, I will... dye all your briefs pink."

"Your words, my heart," said Clark. "Even without RK, for a second, I couldn't decide between carrying Conner to the sun and ripping Luthor in half."

"Thankfully, one of us can react logically to stressful situations. Besides, how was I supposed to sh-shoot Luthor if you'd torn him---" Lois covered her face. "God, if he doens't get convicted because I was stupid enough to try to blow his head off, I'm going to... argh! I could just hit myself sometimes. Stupid, stupid, stupid move! Kill him or let him rot in maximum prison; not something in between that may garner him sympathy."

"He won't be released," Clark said firmly, finally standing up. Thumbing a button on a small remote, he signalled to the Watchtower that he needed privacy. The security cameras in the room would be one of many video loops instead of the real events. "I missed you."

Lois rushed him, jumping up to force him to carry her back onto the sofa where she let his weight press the air out of her lungs. She liked his solid heaviness and the heat of his skin. It was like hugging a star. Kissing his temple, his ear, his cheek, she combed her fingers through his hair, twirling a few strands around her fingertips every once in while to watch it spring out in ringlets.

"Your milk's in there," she said, pointing to a pair of paper bags near the door. "It's going to go sour if we don't stick it in the fridge."

"I haven't been hungry."

"You haven't been sleepy this week either. Even Superman needs to rest."

She felt his lashes brush her wrist.

"His heart stopped, Lois. I heard it. When I dream, I can still feel his..." Clark's breath hitched. His hands released nonexistent viscera. "I'm his dad. Human dads can protect their kids and I couldn't... I've only known him for less than a month and I've already made a mess of things."

Lois wrapped her legs around his waist, hugging him twice.

"Maybe there's a reason why I don't have kids. There were times when we didn't use protection and nothing happened. Maybe--"

"We didn't get pregnant for the same reason amorous raccoons and cats can't. It's pure science, Smallville, not karma. If the world was inherently fair, you'd have a dozen ankle-biters by now and I'd have intravenous coffee to keep up with you all."

"I want to do this right," said Clark. "I want to be a good dad."

"You are. You will be."

"Lois, my son had to jump in front of a laser to save my life!"

"Because you and Chloe have done a good job so far." At his doubtful sigh, Lois explained, "He was brave enough to save your life. He trusted his instincts about Luthor. He felt an obligation to help make the world a better place. Of all the things he could do with his powers-- hell, he could have joined forces with the corrupt leader of the free world and gotten South America in the bargain. But he didn't. He chose to save a life."

"That's Chloe's influence."

"You're always selling yourself short, Smallville. It never occurs to you that you could pretty much rule the world."

Clark blinked. "Of course it does. I just don't want to."

Lois grinned and squeezed his shoulders. "Statements like that make me so hot for you."

A flush inched up from Clark's neck. "Do you, uh... really?" His hand, which had been lightly stoking her calf, now ventured tentatively north. "I know it's a coping mechanism but I've been vacillating between depressed and horny every time you're around."

"Reaffirming life is a very natural thing to feel."

An ante-room off the one side had a bed for Clark to sleep on when he could, separated by a sliding door. They walked there hand in hand. Once on the bed, he pulled her onto his lap, reached under her shirt, and tucked her head under his chin so he could feel her breath against his neck. "I love you so much."

"You too, Smallville."

"Can't you just say 'I love you, too' out in the open, too?"

"You're being a total girl. And grammatically redundant. Get rid of this shirt."

"I'll show you who's being a girl. Turn out the light."

* * *

Pete and Lana came through after the first week. They were themselves walking wounded; Lana had a fractured left tibia and a bandage on her head from a deep cut while Pete wore a neck brace and a sling around his right arm. Both had burns, shiny with aloe.

"How are you both?" Clark asked.

"The worst of the burns are second degree," said Pete. "Black Canary managed to swerve in time to avoid the worst of that landmine. Having the car flip apparently shielded us from the flames."

"We've been kept in seclusion for the hearings otherwise we'd've visited sooner." Lana trailed a hand on Conner's bed rail, gripping and releasing the top edge. Clark was certain she was unconscious of the nervous tic. "He looks better than I imagined. I'm glad."

Pete rubbed his neck. Clark took pity on them both but especially Lana. He hadn't been blind to Conner's coolness towards her. "There's a fridge next door, Pete. Would you like a drink?"

With that excuse, they left Lana at Conner's side. "I'm going back to Paris when this is all over," Pete said after a gulp of Zesti. "Lana's going to visit her Aunt Nell for a week then she's flying over, too."

"And the girls?"

He smiled. "They thought it was the greatest adventure ever. They can't wait to do it again."

"Good for them."

"Yeah, at least someone in this family ended up happy." Pete winced. "Sorry. I don't mean to whine."

Clark studied the patterns on his glass. "Then you and Lana--?"

"Are pretty much separated. She's going to the town home and I'm at the country. We're still working out custody and..." He let his voice fade away. Clark didn't mind. He couldn't have borne hearing more.

"I'm sorry."

Pete let out a bitter chuckle. "What for, man? It wasn't your fault. To tell you the truth, I never thought we'd last forever. We didn't marry for the right reasons and besides, someone like Lana doesn't settle down. I knew that going in."

They sat in companiable silence. Without meaning to, Clark listened in to the goings on next door. Lana was singing a lullaby, he realised.

"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep my little baby. When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses. Dapples and greys, pintos and bays; coach and six little horses."

A peek through the walls showed her sitting right up against the bed so that her cheek rested on the edge of Conner's pillow. She smoothed the hair from his forehead as she sang. "Way down yonder in the meadow, poor little baby cries, 'Mama.' Birds and butterflies flutter 'round his eyes, poor little baby cries 'Mama.'"

"I'll give this for Lana," Pete was saying, "she's a good mom. Whatever we work out, we'll work it out for the benefit of the girls."

Not knowing how to reply, Clark looked down at his hands.

* * *

Fifteen days after being admitted to Star City General, Conner Sullivan opened his eyes. Clark literally fell out of his chair. Stupid Kryptonian robes.

All too aware of the boy's frailty, he placed a hand on Conner's shoulder. "Hey, son. You've been gone a while. Want a drink?"

He nodded, licking his lips, and Clark put some ice chips on his tongue. "I heard you reading. A vet. And horses."

"_All Creatures Great and Smal_l," he said. "My favourite book when I was your age. I wanted to be a vet."

"What changed?"

"I needed a job that gave me an excuse not to be available all the time. As long as I have a laptop and an internet connection, I'm at work. And I do like writing. Reading." He smiled and lowered his gaze as though embarrassed by the admission. "Your mom introduced me to it."

"She'd be so mad at me," said Conner.

"Of course. But I'd be around to remind her that she was at least as reckless when we were kids. Remind me to tell you about the time she almost got stung to death by a swarm of mind-controlled bees."

Conner made a face.

"It's true; the weird actually comes from Chloe's side, not mine. I'm just your average, orphaned alien with a guilt complex that would make the Pope proud." Clark attempted a smile but it wobbled with emotion.

"Superman... has a sense of humour."

"Shhh. Family secret."

Conner's expression crumpled at that. Clark immediately leaned forward, distressed. "What's wrong? Does something hurt? I'll get a nurse."

"No. No, I just... I'm not hurt, I just...Jesus, I'm blubbering like some bloody infant..." The boy sniffled, took a few deeps breaths and composed himself. "So. Family secret, huh? That mean... family business, too?"

Wincing, Clark said, "Wouldn't you prefer something more stable? Doctor, lawyer, thrash metal rock star? Not that seeing you wearing the family colours isn't great-- you wear them well, Conner. But if I have to see you get hurt again, I don't know how I'd... You'll have slave labour on top of the life-time grounding."

"Sorry. I messed up."

"Yes, you did. I told you and Lois to keep away for a reason. For Pete's sake, I just found you and I almost lost you again! Do you know how that--" Realising he'd started to raise his voice, Clark exhaled and sat back down.

"I'm sorry," Conner repeated, quieter.

"I'm sorry too that I couldn't get to you... in time to..." And now it was Clark's turn to fall to pieces. He kept from crying but his great, wide shoulders shook, his breath came out in ragged gasps and he couldn't feel his knees. He covered his face; the last thing he wanted was for Conner to see him like this.

It was too late. "Awww, dammit... don't... please… please don't do that. For fuck's sake... on top of everything else, I... made Superman cry."

Jagged laughter burst from his mouth. "Villains the world around will be vying to acquire the skill."

"Tell them... it's a family secret."

His words threatened to make Clark lose it again so he reached out again to put a hand on Conner's shoulder.

"Sorry," the boy said. "'Can't keep awake."

"It's all right, Con. Go ahead and sleep."

With a sigh, he closed his eyes. "My mom... called me that."

"Con?"

"Yeah. Makes you officially... my dad. Never called anyone..."

Clark had no words for the emotion he felt. Chloe was right when, in her will, she bemoaned the failings of the English language. Some things were beyond description.

Coughing down the lump in his throat, he said, "By the way, I wanted to thank you. You saved my life, you know."

Conner's eyelids flickered and his lips twitched upwards. "I know. Isn't it cool?"

This time, Clark smiled so wide he was sure he'd never stop.

- fin -


	8. Author Notes

As much as I would love to take credit for Conner Sullivan, he's actually based on a comic book character, Superboy. [http://en. Superman's apparent death [http://en. four men (well, two men, a cyborg and a teenager) showed up each claiming to be Superman. After Clark returned, they figured out that the person everyone referred to as The Metropolis Kid or Superboy, was actually a clone created by Cadmus Labs out of Superman's DNA.

Physically 14 years old but chronologically 2, Superboy was only known by his codename or the moniker "The Kid" for the longest time. He didn't actually have any of Superman's powers. Instead, he had "tactile telekinesis", a telekinetic force field that surrounded his body as a protective shield and simulated Superman's speed, strength, flight and invulnerability. He was actually as impulsive as Kal/Red-K Clark but not mean. Just... a little blond.

Eventually, he joined Young Justice/Teen Titans along with Robin, Arrowette, Wondergirl, Impulse and a bunch or other fun folks. Even though they didn't really have a lot of on-panel interaction, Clark and Kon seemed to have great working relationship. It was just the personal one that was a little uncomfortable for both parties. Still Clark was the one who finally gave The Kid a name, Kon-El, after a cousin, officially making him family.

Soon afterward, it was revealed that Kon was only half-Kryptonian; Cadmus scientists had to use human genes to stabilise the experiment. Specifically, they used Lex Luthor's genes and implanted a "switch" in his head that would put him under Luthor's control. He also, he lived in Smallville for some time as Conner Kent, Clark's cousin, for his own protection (it's a LONG story).

For theInfinite Crisis story-arc [http://en. TPTB in DC had a choice between killing Dick Grayson, the original Robin, or Kon-El/Conner Kent/Superboy. Guess who they picked:( Despite the teasing hints that Superboy will return, there has been no sign of him in the comics since FOREVER. Scuttlebutt is that this is due to the legal battle between DC and the Seigel family for the rights to Superman. [http://en. [http://superboylives. was the reason I got into DC, dangit, and I wanted him back. He was cocky, precocious, and headdeskingly impulsive yet at the same time, sweet, uncertain, and fiercely loyal. He was SQUISHY. He was the SQUISHIEST.

When the "unusual pregnancy" storyline started in Season6, my mind immediately went there. That's why we all love fanfic, right? Because we can change things and play with what-ifs, generally mucking up canon into something that will return our SQUISHY to us.

So thank you very much for reading this fic. Hopefully, it will push you to look for comics with Kon in them which will make the publishers sit up in attention. Heck, if nothing else, you'll spread the Kon-love. Because Kon IS love. He is squishy, over-gelled, cheek-pinching love.

[ [ Katt


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